Feathers
by partypoison69
Summary: Frerard.  Gerard is a lonely, nineteen year old asshole living with his mother and brother. Frank is a secluded, introverted fifteen year old, living with his mother. When she dies the only person he can turn to is the older boy he met at the art store.
1. Chapter 1

As he browsed through the copious amounts of different paintbrushes, he spotted a familiar face. He's seen this boy in the art supply store five times in one week already. It was now Friday and each day at the same time he saw this exact boy just looking at the boxes of paints and the jars of glitter, transfixed by the colours, it seemed. Although he was familiar with just about anyone in the art store, he couldn't seem to go up to the innocent boy and introduce himself. Every day they watched each other's movements as the boy stood staring at the jars and he himself spent a longer amount of time than usual purchasing his supplies.

The boy in the corner caught himself stealing glances at the other boy as he sat studying how the light reflected off the many different colours of glitter. He loved the dancing rainbows but he had no money to pay for a jar. As soon as the other boy had paid, he stood up and followed him out the door. Maybe today he'd have the courage to talk to the tall, mysterious looking boy he'd been practically stalking for a few weeks.

Gerard noticed the small – he didn't mean to say it, but – child stand up as he left the counter and headed for the exit. The kid couldn't have been more than fifteen or sixteen at most, but none the less, he intrigued him. The way he was utterly perplexed by the beauty of the colours in the art store, the way he silently sat there and observed the customers, he found endearing, though a little strange. He was surprised, when the boy stood up and followed him. If the boy was interested in him or that he suddenly realised he had to go home, he did not know, but he looked like he had something to say to him. Not sure of what to do, he slowly shuffled around the corner of the shop, the boy still following him.

Frank followed the boy with the dark hair around the corner and decided he had better say something or this obviously older young man would incite a restraining order. He had never been one for confrontations and he even had trouble with conversing normally with his parents. Friends he never had, because his peers thought him odd and different. Never had he possessed any social skills or any desire to possess such in his eyes unnecessary talents. He felt he was better off alone. School was optional in his opinion, only occasionally attending it was, he deemed, more than needed.

Before they turned the corner Frank quickly tapped the tall boy's shoulder and almost instantly regretted it. What if the young man thought he was bothering him? What if he didn't want to talk to Frank? What if he was a tough guy and would beat him up? He was practically whimpering when the older boy turned around to face him. Struggling to find words, Frank stuttered but couldn't form a complete sentence. Feeling like an idiot just standing there looking at his worn out sneakers, he wiggled his toe through the hole in the nose of the shoe. He heard a faint giggle from above him and realised the tall boy was still stood there.

Gerard wondered what was going through the kid's mind as he watched him shuffle around and pick his fingernails. He looked down as well and observed the boy's shoes, or what was left of them. He could vaguely make out the kid's toes wiggling about and noticed one of them was poking out the end. It was a sad sight to see but he couldn't help but giggle. He turned red as a strawberry immediately, not wanting the kid to think he was making fun of him. For a fleeting moment he wondered if the boy before him had anything to say to him, until he finally spoke.

"Uh" he managed to say, already kicking himself. "Hi. Are you, I mean, do you, uh, do you like art?" Swearing inwardly he tried with every fibre of his being to stay rooted to the spot and not run away, like he usually would have done. "I, uh, saw you in the, uh, shop." Very eloquently put, Frank, he complimented himself sarcastically.

Gerard was speechless, for he had not expected this boy to bring up the subject. He had pictured a scenario more in the direction of you-dropped-your-wallet but the way the boy stood there and studied the pavement made Gerard's brain go fuzzy. Trying to formulate a response was proving hard, which was usually not a problem for him. He was known to be mouthy and he always had the last word in whichever kind of argument he got in.

"Yeah. Do you? I mean, I saw you with the glitter and stuff," Gerard responded, hoping that the kid in front of him had heard him so he would not have to repeat it. The kid looked at his shoes as if he'd not heard a word. Gerard just watched as the kid's hair fell into his eyes and hoped he would be the next to speak.

"Do you paint or draw?" He enquired, with genuine interest it seemed to Frank. Although Frank loved art and had often tried to create, he could never project the images in his mind onto a piece of paper. He had given up, just like he gave up with every hobby he attempted. He considered himself a failure at everything he tried, so he gave up trying.

"No, I, uh, just like colours and the pretty rainbows with the glitter," he said, too fast and barely audible, hoping that the tall boy wouldn't think he was mentally deficient.

"Oh," Gerard answered, unsure of how to react. For a few minutes they stood on the corner of the street. The small boy's fragile looking posture was trembling, his mouth open, trying to utter a syllable. Gerard patiently waited, understanding the kid's mindset for he, too, used to have trouble talking to strangers, though he did not understand yet the reason the boy had started talking to him.

"I have to go home. It, uh, was nice," Frank muttered honestly, hoping the taller boy would say something. By now, he'd forgotten the reason he wanted to talk to him. His eyes traced the words written on the other boy's sweatshirt without reading them.

"What's your name?" Gerard asked him before he walked away, not wanting him to leave yet. Though the lack of charisma displayed by both of them made the conversation more than usually awkward, Gerard still appreciated the boy's gesture to enquire about his art and made him want to know more about this mysterious kid who had followed him out the store.

"Frankie," he squeaked before rushing around the corner out of Gerard's sight, leaving him with his thoughts about how much Frankie had done that day to help him. Today, he decided, he wouldn't give up. Today, he would create.

Meeting Frankie had woken something up inside him and gave him new inspiration which he'd been lacking for almost seven months.


	2. Chapter 2

In the light of the single beam of sun that entered his room, Gerard sat drawing. Once he was occupied with a pencil or pen, his mindset changed completely. His imagination took over and everything he was feeling spilled out onto the paper at the same time. Each time he tried to draw something new, the only face that appeared would be that of the boy he had met last week.

His pencil carefully traced over the sketch of Frankie's eyes, nose and finally his lips. Surprised he remembered all his features after barely ten minutes of conversation, Gerard observed the drawing and admired Frankie's features. He felt strange admitting to himself, that he was a rather attractive boy, once he lifted his head up and you could see his face. Immediately he stored away that thought in a box in his mind he liked to call forbidden.

Gerard felt a twinge of loneliness, like he felt on most days, but this time it was stronger. He had met someone who seemed to be just as – or even more – introverted compared to himself when he was that age, and for a moment he longed for the day that he could share his passions and his secrets with someone who would understand him and his ways. Each time he'd opened up to someone, they had either told him he wasn't good enough or they ignored him, which had caused Gerard's short temper with people.

A sudden shift in Gerard's mood made him put the drawing of Frankie aside and pull out his favourite comics from the top shelf of his comic cupboard. His collection was the one thing he was most proud of, though none of his peers or even his own mother seemed to value it as much. Having lost all motivation to draw or read, because he would most likely never see Frankie again, let alone ever show him the drawing or read comics with him, he carefully placed his comic back on the top shelf and grabbed his new paintbrushes and set of water paints.

Half an hour later he was lying on his bed half clothed, feeling miserable. He had finished the painting in less than twenty minutes and it had turned out pretty well. It was a great improvement from the past few months, where he had created nothing but recycled cartoon characters that had found their way into the rubbish bin. The reason for his being miserable, lay in who exactly he had painted. For the past week, all he had been able to draw, paint or think about was the younger boy with the worn out sneakers who had taken interest in him enough to start a conversation. The truth was, he intrigued him, just as he himself had intrigued Frankie.

Right now, all Gerard wanted was to see Frankie again and to maybe arrange to read comics sometime. He hoped Frankie enjoyed comics. What if he laughed at his collection? He didn't know if he'd be able to take that. It took him five minutes to get out the door and to the art supply store.


	3. Chapter 3

Frank was sat in the corner of the art store holding a jar of glitter in one hand, moving it in front of the light watching the rainbows dance. He had been sat there every day from the hour it opened until the hour it closed, waiting for a chance to see the tall boy again. He'd not had the chance to ask for his name and this week had been agony, watching customer after customer enter without a trace of the young man he'd seen last Monday.

It was now Friday and Frank was about to go home, when the tall boy walked in. Frank dropped the jar of red glitter he was holding, and rainbows were scattered on the floor. Wishing he'd chosen the other corner behind the shelves of acrylics where no one could see him, he apologized profusely to the shopkeeper and scooped the glitters back into the jar with his hands. He made his way to the counter to ask for the dustpan and brush.

"Never you mind that, now, sonny," the shopkeeper, a man of very little hair and height, told Frank. "You pick up the most you can and go home, you've been here all day, sonny," he added, "I'll hoover it up later, don't you worry." He patted Frank on the shoulder and Frank apologized for the mess again.

"Hey, Frankie," the tall boy gestured for him to come over towards the shelves with water paints. The relief Frank felt when he saw him was overwhelming, he was afraid he would never see him again.

"Um, what's your name? I, uh, never got to ask last time," he enquired. The taller boy chuckled and looked down into Frank's eyes. The last time they met, he had wanted to run after him to tell him and spend the day together, reading comics. He didn't understand why he hadn't.

"My name's Gerard," he says, glancing across the store towards the old man hoovering the floor. He lowers his voice and Frank leans in to hear over the sound of the vacuum cleaner.

"Do you like comics?" Gerard asked carefully, regretting it, knowing it sounded lame and geeky. Frank was probably into video games and maybe even drugs, Gerard though, judging from the dark circles under the kid's eyes and the constant bloodshot eyes. When he saw Frank's face light up, he regained some security.

"I'd love to! I mean, uh. Okay," Frankie smiled, but immediately looked down at his sneakers as if he were ashamed to exclaim his enthusiasm as he had done. Gerard took his hand in his own and whispered, "I only really came here to ask that. The shopkeeper tells me you like it here."

"I, uh, like the colours and the smells," Frank responded timidly, "it feels safe." He wanted to add that it reminded him of Gerard now as well, but fearful as he was of rejection and humiliation, he kept that secret deep inside of him.

"So, do you wanna read some of my comics?" Gerard asks cheerfully yet carefully, not wanting to scare Frank off so quickly, now they seemed to be getting along. He watched as Frank shuffled from one worn out sneaker to the other, seemingly too shy to know what to say.

"Yeah, but, um, I gotta get home. My mum is, well, she's not too well," Frank replied earnestly. He assured Gerard that he would come tomorrow if he could. They would meet up at the store and walk to Gerard's house from there.


	4. Chapter 4

Gerard had locked himself in his bedroom, which was in the basement of his small house. He still lived with his mother and younger brother, even though he was almost nineteen years old but he couldn't bring himself to leave. The main reason being: he detested being around others, who usually either did not understand him or had no time for him. He was too secluded in his own mind and wrapped up in his own world to be able to function outside of the safe confines of his own basement.

Locking himself in and other out was the only way for Gerard to be himself with no one judging him for it, for he knew that no one could sneak in unexpectedly and catch him enjoying his comics or his other activities. Like every other teenaged male, Gerard had needs and he never liked when his brother, Michael, suddenly walked in asking if he'd seen one of his Star Wars videos, when he was masturbating. Although they were brothers, there were things that were to be done in private.

He had been slightly worried about Frank and he couldn't help but wish he'd comforted him more. Frank had seemed awfully distracted yesterday and when he'd mentioned his mother not being too well, Gerard wanted to just hug him and make him feel better, make him smile. Never having being really close to anyone before, his affection for the younger boy surprised him. The mutual interest they had in each other was another thing new to Gerard. He'd always thought himself an asshole, a human repellent.

Glancing around his bedroom, which looked like a bomb had hit it, he sighed. He always tried to tidy up the clutter of art supplies and clothes that lay scattered over nearly every piece of furniture he owned, but after five minutes he always gave it up as a lost cause. Not this time though; he was going to arrange every single item in his room so they all had their proper location in his room so he'd be able to find everything. Thinking about the next day, when Frank would arrive to read comics with him, he commenced.

Beginning with the first bookcase next to the basement door where all his art supplies were piled up and dirty, he cleared it all out and sorted the stuff into two heaps: the supplies that needed cleaning and the supplies that didn't.

After three hours of hard work and a lot of scrubbing the dried acrylic paint off the wooden floor, Gerard sat on his bed admiring the result. It certainly smelled a lot fresher and the process had taken his mind off of Frankie. Though, now he was finished, his thoughts were once again aimed at him and how much he wanted to know about him.

His mother had made a spaghetti bolognese for dinner as they were low on ingredients for any more complex dishes. Gerard didn't mind and neither did Michael. Gerard's younger brother was less introverted and more social, yet more of an asshole, but at least he got along with his peers and had orthodox hobbies, like soccer and basketball, like making fun of teachers with fellow classmates. Gerard had never been one for joining in with group activities for he preferred the seclusion of his own basement and the company of his paintbrushes to busy hallways filled with anti social children who were bursting with hormones. He couldn't stand school or any of the people in it, which was why he left for the Art Academy when he was sixteen.

However, he didn't attend many classes and was failing half the ones he did attend, and because Michael was still at high school and his mother didn't have a driver's license, Gerard was somewhat forced to drive his younger brother to and from school premises. He detested the place and never got out the car if he could help it. Michael's friends thought Gerard was strange, and rightfully so, for Gerard thought himself strange, too.

The conversation at the dinner table was not particularly interesting to Gerard so he found himself slipping into a daydream in which Frankie and himself were in his bedroom, sitting on Gerard's bedcovers. Frankie was innocently playing with the toggles on Gerard's sweatshirt and mumbling to himself. The image in Gerard's head was so serene and delicate, that when Michael kicked him under the dinner table, he was startled. His heart was pounding.

"Could you pass the pepper, Gee?" His brother asked him, looking slightly annoyed, having had to ask the question three times before receiving a response. The brothers could never stay angry at each other for extensive period of time, because their interests were so alike. They loved each other dearly, so sometimes they let rip on each other for they knew it wouldn't last long.

"Sure, Mikey. Here you go," he passed the pepper shaker to his right and before putting it down, he sprinkled some into Michael's unbrushed hair.

"Motherf-," Mikey started to yell, but his mother intervened.

"Language, boys!" She said, threateningly, "especially you, Mikes, you've gotten particularly foulmouthed in the past few weeks. What's going on? Is it those rude friends of yours? I certainly never raised you to speak like that."

"Sorry, mom," Mikey apologized, "just, y'know, school influences and stuff." His mother would understand. In reality, she wasn't too fussed about her children swearing. After all, they were at the age now that they were allowed to stray from home and her rules. She loved her sons and cherished every hug she received from them, which had become increasingly less, and every chance she had to tell them she loved them, she took.

After they had tidied up the dinner table and washed the dishes, Gerard retired to his basement and Mikey went to take a shower. Patiently, Gerard waited in his bedroom, thinking about which comic he would show to Frankie first tomorrow.


	5. Chapter 5

Anxiously, Gerard paced the creaking wooden floor of his bedroom. He was only due to meet Frank in half an hour at the art store, but he couldn't wait any longer and therefore he departed, forgetting his keys in the hurry to get to the shop. Walking briskly in his black trench coat over the pavement, he watched the leaves circle each other and rest on the concrete as the wind died down. It was autumn and the trees were sporting a beautiful golden crown of leaves. Leaves were also scattered across the road and the sidewalk, making the scenery look the best it had all year.

He crossed the road and turned the corner. To his surprise, Frank was stood at the door, obviously waiting for him. The younger boy rushed over to him and hugged him desperately. Completely overwhelmed by this sudden act of affection coming from a stranger almost, he lost track of his train of thought and simply hugged Frank back. It seemed to Gerard exactly what the boy in his arms needed. He looked lost.

Without saying a word, they walked close together back to Gerard's house. It wasn't far; merely across the road and around two corners. Frank wished he could hold the older boy's hand, but he was afraid Gerard would reject him and he'd be alone. For the first time in his life he had someone to share something with, someone who seemed to be just like him. He clung onto Gerard's black coat though, and was sure Gerard didn't notice.

Frank liked the look of Gerard's home; not too big, but rather small and cosy. There wasn't much light coming in, because all the curtains were closed. Apparently, Frank thought, the Way family were vampires. Frank didn't mind, he didn't much like sunlight for it reminded him of open spaces where people could see him and take him away. His biggest fear was being alone or with people he detested, but at the same time he preferred loneliness to company of any kind, except the company of Gerard.

"Mom, this is Frankie. We met at the art store and, uh, we're gonna read some comics. Okay?" Gerard murmured nervously, hoping his mother wouldn't mind. "We'll be in my room so we won't be noisy," he explained.

"Hi, Frankie, dear. Oh, and that's fine, honey," Donna said, encouragingly. Truth to be told, she was overjoyed Gerard seemed to have finally found a friend. "Do you want to take down something to eat?"

"Frankie?" Gerard redirected the question.

"No, thank you, Mrs. Way," he responded politely, proud he managed not to break down or stutter. He felt more at ease in this house than in any other place he'd been.

"If you two need anything, just let me know, all right, boys? And, Frankie, you can call me Donna," she smiled, "because 'Mrs. Way' makes me feel very old."

"Okay, Mrs. Way, uh, I mean, uh, Donna," every proud feeling Frank had, vanished immediately. He clenched his fingers around the hem of Gerard's sweatshirt and followed him into the basement.

Down in Gerard's room, Frankie dropped himself onto the bed and curled up under the duvet. He clasped the top of the covers in his fists and pulled it over his head, plunging himself into safe darkness. He felt someone's – Gerard's, obviously – hand gently moving the cover.

Gerard hadn't expected this. An innocent little boy, barely four years younger than himself, going to sleep in his bed whilst they hadn't even shared two sentences the whole day. When he hears Frank sniff, he quietly walks over to the bed and puts his hand on the duvet.

"Frankie, are you okay?" He enquires gently, pushing back the cover to reveal the kid's black tuft of scruffy hair and his hazel eyes, staring frightened up at him. Suddenly Gerard felt a wave of endearment for this small, delicate looking boy huddled in the bedclothes. The kid whimpered and a tear escaped from his eye, he sat up and grasped Gerard's sweatshirt and pulled himself into a hug.

How long they sat there with their arms around each other, Gerard did not know. He made no effort to talk to Frankie either because after what seemed like a few minutes, Frankie had fallen asleep in his arms. Moving would wake him up, so Gerard laid there, unconsciously stroking Frank's soft, black hair.

When Frank woke up, he couldn't remember where he was, until he realised whom his head was resting on. He sat upright immediately, not wanting to trespass any longer on Gerard's body.

"Sorry, Gerard, I, um. Sorry," he whispered, biting back tears.

"Hey, it's okay, Frankie. Why, I mean, uh, are you, uh, okay?" Gerard wanted to kick himself. Of course Frank wasn't okay, he was _crying_.

"Sorry, do you want to talk about it?" He asked more subtly, hoping Frank would open up.

The small, curled up Frankie sniffled a few times before explaining his worries. Not without stuttering, he told Gerard the story of how his mother had gotten breast cancer two months ago, soon after his father passed away. She had regular visits to the hospital for a while, but due to financial problems medication could not be obtained and further appointments could not be made. The cancer gradually got worse and spread. Frank had missed school four days a week to be with his mother, no matter how hard she tried to tell him he should get an education, he persisted.

"And now, she's.. she only has about a week," Frankie choked on his tears and threw his arms around Gerard again. Gerard folded his arms around the boy's slender back and stroked his hair. Frank leaned cautiously on Gerard's chest and they laid down on the bed. Hoping he could cheer Frank up somehow, Gerard decided not to further the subject.

They held each other close until Donna called. Gerard sat upright on the bed and Frank grinned sheepishly at him. As they both made their way to the basement door that led up to the kitchen, Gerard stopped for a second.

"Frankie, are you okay to go up there? I mean, my mom will worry," he said, as he watched Frank wipe his eyes and bite his fingernails. Frank nodded, with his index finger still half in his mouth. Gerard caught himself staring and looked towards the door and unlocked it.


	6. Chapter 6

Gerard walked Frank home after his mom had given them some cookies. She had insisted for she was convinced Frankie looked positively underfed and was practically a bag of bones. After walking block after block, staring at the pavement and their moving feet, Gerard wondered how much further Frank's house could possibly be.

"Frankie, where do you live?" He asked, not entirely confident Frank remembered.

"Just down the road," he mumbled in reply.

Clearly Frankie wasn't in a talkative mood. The afternoon had obviously worn him out, for he'd spent a good half an hour telling Gerard about his parents, his childhood and how everything had gone terribly wrong after his father's death. Even though Frank probably didn't want him to be, Gerard still felt sorry for the young kid. He had gone through so much more than Gerard and he now felt selfish for thinking he needed someone like Frank. It was quite the opposite now he realised how much Frank needed someone like him instead, someone to confide in.

The sky was a pearly gray colour while Frank and Gerard walked close together along the sidewalk, ignoring glances from staring eyes. Cautiously, Frank touched Gerard's hand, running his fingers down his palm. Gerard understood the message and squeezed Frank's hand into his. Together they walked into a concrete building, which was where Frank obviously lived.

The apartment building was dingy, cold and smelled of a mixture of urine, vomit and alcoholic drinks. Frank was embarrassed of where he lived, but he hated walking home alone. There was always a drunk waiting in an alley or a homeless guy taking shelter in the elevator, which was why he avoided it like the plague and took the stairs every day.

The two of them trudged up the concrete stairs. Having warned Gerard not to touch any walls or the banister because he'd probably get Hepatitis, Frank stayed close to the taller boy. He had only known him for little more than a week, but he felt he truly knew him just by looking into his eyes. There was no explanation for it, so he chose not to dwell on it anymore.

When they reached the sixth floor, Gerard held out his hand for Frank to shake it, before realizing that was too formal and pulling Frankie into his arms. Frankie mumbled something unintelligible for his face was smothered in Gerard's sweatshirt. Gerard's legs were aching due to the trek up the stairs. He was reasonably fit but stairs were another story.

After they'd pulled away from each other, Frank leaned in as if to whisper something in Gerard's ear. He quickly kissed Gerard on the cheek and disappeared into his apartment, leaving Gerard standing at the top of the stairs in shock yet half smirking.

Gerard watched as Frank closed the apartment door behind him and turned around to walk down the stairs, back home. He couldn't take his mind off of the kiss Frank had given him for one second. Millions of thoughts rushed through his head giving him a headache. Wishing he had Advil with him, he stumbled down the first few steps and then regained his footing.

Why the fuck did he kiss him? They'd known each other for slightly more than a week, two days of which they had seen each other, the week before they had merely exchanged glances in the supply store. Gerard was perplexed when he thought back at today. He'd listened to a sobbing boy telling him his mother had cancer while he lay in his bed while they didn't even know each other. What the fuck was going on?

It wasn't exactly that he didn't like Frankie. In fact, he was besotted with him, he found him terribly endearing, but this was precisely why he was so confused. With his hands in his pockets he nudged the stained glass door of the apartment open and stepped outside into the rain. He hadn't brought a coat but for some reason he didn't care.

"What the fuck are you looking at, huh?" He snapped at an elderly woman carrying shopping bags. One bag accidentally brushed past his leg and he couldn't help himself. Everything inside him seem to break, he wanted to scream, he was so tight wound.

"What the fuck is your problem?" He yelled at a skinhead who barged past him. His mood had changed drastically. It seemed everyone was out to make his life difficult. He recognized this mindset and it scared him. He'd been suicidal when he was sixteen and each time he'd been in a mood like this, he'd either done something incredibly stupid, like break a car window or smash his water paints – it was usually along the lines of destroying glass objects, or using them to destroy something else he would later regret – or he'd tried to kill himself. He wasn't proud of it and he wished he could have been stronger. Not having told anyone about his attempts, his mother and Mikey just thought he was moody and strange. They still loved him, though he could be grumpy and could start an argument over little things like too much salt on the fries. Mikey had gotten used to Gerard's outbursts and yelled back to get his frustration out of his system. She hated it when her sons fought, but Donna knew they'd sort it out eventually.

His sweatshirt and jeans were soaked to his pale skin when Gerard arrived home. Immediately, he walked through the kitchen to the door that led down the stairs to his bathroom and the basement, leaving tiny puddles where his feet touched the floor. He yanked the door open and slammed it behind him, storming down the wooden stairs, soaking them. Pulling his sweatshirt over his head as he walked down, almost tripping and falling, he reached the door to the bathroom and kicked it open.

Happy the bathroom wasn't occupied, he ripped off his Black Flag T-shirt, kicked off his sneakers and wiggled out of his jeans. Standing in front of the mirror in only his boxer shorts, Gerard felt oddly relieved yet horribly exposed. He hated his body and suddenly wished he was in his own room and not in the cold, white bathroom.

"Fuck you," he spat at his reflection, resisting the urge to punch the mirror. He rested his hands on the porcelain basin and his head on the mirror, looking down into the black plughole, wishing he could disappear. His hand slipped on the wet sink and he stumbled to the side. Cursing, he yanked open the bathroom cabinet, grabbing the canister of Advil or whatever he was using.


	7. Chapter 7

Gerard came to, feeling groggy, his vision blurred, at around 3 AM he supposed. He was still lying on the bathroom floor as he had been when he bumped his head on the sink and slumped into a heap on the anti-slip mat.

As he lay on his back staring at the cracked ceiling, his head pounding, his vision distorted, he groaned. He couldn't remember exactly how many pills were in that canister or how many there were still left, but he was thankful to be alive. He didn't seem to remember if he even took any pills as he looked at the mess of narcotics on the grey tiles. _I probably just blacked out_, he thought.

Gerard had used painkillers so many times, downing pills was a mere habit, something he did for fun almost. If he didn't like what the day would bring, he'd down one extra pill and not experience anything. He'd wake up, draw, down another pill and sleep again. Failing most of his art classes didn't faze him. At all.

Most of his drawings from the past few months were of monsters or were mere scribbles he claimed were supposed to resemble his nightmares.

He sat up, his arms supporting his torso, and looked around. The bathroom was still hazy but less than before.

"Gee, can I borrow your headphones?" He heard his brother yell down the stairs. _Better stay on that side of the door, motherfucker,_ he thought, lifting himself off the floor. Instantly, his vision turned black. He wobbled and clung to the shower curtain, which didn't give him much support. When his vision cleared, he opened the door.

"Sorry, Mikes, they're broken. Think I stood on 'em, or somethin'," he slurred, turning towards his bedroom. As he opened the door hastily, fumbling with the lock, he stumbled in and headed straight for the safe covers of his bed.

His stomach churning and his head spinning, Gerard felt as if he was slipping back into his depression, for this had become normal a few months ago. When he'd finally started getting back out of his self-dug hole, he'd met Frankie. He wanted to do good by him, to help him. After a few minutes, trying to regain a sense of calm, he lifted himself off the bed, still dizzy as he was, and made his way into the bathroom again.

The Vicodin or Advil, Gerard didn't remember, was still on the floor. He bent down and wiped his arms across the floor and scooped the scattered tablets in to his palms. Picking up the empty container with his right pinky, he set it upright and slid the pills into it. Setting the canister back into the cabinet, he realised that if he kept them there, this would most likely repeat itself. Without thinking it over, he pulled up the plug in the sink and rammed the tablets through the hole and let the tap run. The pills were gone.

He made his way up the stairs towards the kitchen, for he was suddenly starving, like he hadn't eaten for days. Then, he realised he hadn't. Frankie had eaten all the cookies his mother had given them.

"Mikey!" He called out, hoping his brother was still around. He usually went out at weekends to God-knows-where with his noisy mates. To his surprise, he received a response.

"Gee, where did you put that magazine you borrowed? You know what I'm talking about," Mikey hollered back.

"I put it back on your bookcase when I was done, you motherfucker," Gerard yelled back, knowing he could swear because his mother worked at the diner down the road on Saturdays.

"Well, it's not fucking there now, is it?"

"I swear I put it there, Mikey."

"If I find any stains on it, you're fucking dead meat," Mikey yelled and slammed the door. It seemed to Gerard he'd finally found it anyway.

Gerard envied Mikey's porn magazine collection. He never bought any himself because he was too occupied with either creating or destroying something to masturbate. Although, he was pretty sure Mikey hadn't exactly bought _all_ the magazines he had in his possession. His brother had more friends than fingers and they had probably watched more than a dozen porn movies together and most likely frequently exchanged magazines.

It wasn't so much that Gerard was disgusted by it, he just never found it something to occupy yourself with in company of friends who did the same. What Gerard enjoyed most was a solitary wank and a shower following that. He felt dirty, every time.

After grabbing a few muffins from the pantry, he trudged back downstairs again, his dizziness almost completely gone. He threw himself on the bed and munched his muffins like there was no tomorrow. He fervently wished he had comfier cushions and a softer mattress. His current mattress was at least twenty years old and he could feel the springs, yet it still felt like home. It still felt safe.

In twelve years he still hadn't changed his duvet covers either. There were holes in it and the edges were partly frayed, but he couldn't get rid of it. His mother had stopped badgering him to grow up and so had Mikey. Spider Man never got old, Gerard thought.

As he ate the last of his muffins, it was approaching midnight. Yet tired and groggy, Gerard couldn't bring himself to go to sleep. He went over to his desk by the small window and took the drawing he'd made of Frank out of the drawer he kept it in. The drawer was locked so Mikey couldn't accidentally find it while he was looking for dirty mags.

He regarded the drawing critically, noticing he'd shaded Frank's eyes a bit too much. His eyes were lighter hazel than Gerard's and he found them gorgeous. Erasing that thought as fast as it had appeared in his mind, Gerard laid the drawing back in the drawer and went to bed.


	8. Chapter 8

As Donna tidied the dirty cutlery into the dishwasher, after scraping off bits of congealed rice or potato, she thought of her sons. She had specifically instructed Michael to stay home this Saturday – for he'd also already been out last night – to be there for Gerard when he got back. Though, this last part she didn't precisely tell him, she merely stated that he should take some time off from his busy night life.

She often worried for her sons – slightly more for Gerard, as he had no friends and seemed terribly secluded from everyone in his life, including herself – because no matter how hard she tried to coach them into social activities, in or outside of school, the one completely shied away from them after extensive quarrels with teachers, while the other joined in happily for the sake of screwing up the lessons with his mates.

It wasn't like she did not approve of Michael being a lot more social than Gerard had been in his entire life, but his friends' attitudes left a lot to be desired for. She knew she couldn't expect them to remain kids forever, however much so wished they could, and that they would grow away from home. It broke her heart, especially since even now when they were living in the same house, they barely had contact outside of the kitchen.

After setting the timer on the dishwasher and wiping down the counters, she said goodbye to Craig, the janitor, and closed the diner door behind her. She had worked at the diner for almost four years. Since her husband had passed away, she needed to work. The money her parents had left her was running out and she needed to provide for Michael, presuming Gerard would leave and live on his own next year.

Gerard would probably be home right now, she thought, as she walked home. The diner was only one block away from the house. She hoped Frankie had arrived home all right, knowing his area of residence was rough and there were some dodgy people living around there – and she hoped Gerard had also been able to escape that neighbourhood without being stabbed.

Tormenting herself with visions of her wounded son lying in a dark alley – the kind in movies where you expect either a murderer or a rapist or a mixture of the two to jump out from behind a trash can and take you there and then- somewhere with a knife in his back, she started to jog, wanting to be home as soon as possible.

When she reached the front door, she fumbled with her keys. Telling herself to get a grip, telling herself that Gerard would probably just be sitting in his bedroom with his crayons – his water paints, she reminded herself Gerard was no longer eight years old – she opened the door, trying to calm herself down.

Living in the not-so-nice part of New Jersey plagued Donna every day of her life, ever since she brought her sons into this world. She couldn't let them play outside, like every kid anywhere else, knowing that some psycho might take them away from her. She couldn't live with the fear of her sons' safety, so she kept them inside the house for years until they started school. Even then, she drove them every day, there and back, not letting them out of her sight for one minute.

She'd been anxious letting them into public school because they had never had contact with anyone but each other, but, having no money for a private school and the fact that there was no private school in a ten mile range from their house, she had to make do. She feared they wouldn't make friends, that they would be bullied, that they wouldn't be able to fit in. By doing so much to make them fit in, like forcing – she didn't like that term – Mikey to join the basketball team because he was tall, like trying to get Gerard to join in with afterschool chemistry club because it was his best subject – besides art, they had not been able to flourish and grow into themselves properly.

Donna considered herself a failed mother. Both her sons were different, yet not in a good way. They didn't particularly blossom as individuals for they were so estranged from their surroundings from a young age, they didn't relate to their peers and their peers didn't relate to them. Michael had less trouble fitting in than Gerard, yet Donna thought he was mixing with the wrong crowd. He'd been known to join in with bullying and vandalism in and outside of school premises. She still felt she should lay off badgering him about it. There was nothing much she could do anymore. Having turned sixteen in September, he requested more freedom. She had let him stay out longer, hoping he'd use his freedom wisely, but already half knowing it would go wrong someday. Ignoring her strong premonition that she wouldn't find either of her sons at home, she opened to front door and entered her home.

Pleasantly surprised and relieved to see her eldest sitting at the kitchen table, nibbling what looked like the flapjacks she'd bought about a month ago, she set down her purse and put her hands on his shoulders, gently massaging the tense muscles.

"Hey," Gerard whispered, "I'm glad you're home, mom."

"I'm glad you are, too, Gee," she replied quietly. She put the kettle on and asked him whether he wanted tea or coffee.

"Coffee, thank you," he smiled at her lovingly. She knew how to cure his bad moods most of the time with little gestures that meant the world to him, like brewing him a caffeine filled drink. His mother smiled back at him and was glad her visions of dead-Gerard-in-dark-alley had finally disappeared. When she heard Michael call, all her worries about her precious young son evaporated like the steam above the cup of Gerard's boiling coffee.


	9. Chapter 9

Frank let the hot water caress his body, letting it soak his hair, feeling it soften his skin and loosening his tense muscles. One of the luxuries Frank let himself have were long, hot showers. He groaned, his whole body completely relaxed. Squeezing the nearly empty bottle of soap, he lathered himself in suds and inhaled deeply. Heaven.

He stepped out the shower, the cold stone tiles numbing his feet. Glancing at the reflection of his pale, slender body, he looked down at his stomach, down to his feet. Realizing he was completely exposed, he quickly wrapped a ragged towel around his waist, covering the lower part of his body and wrung his wet tufts of hair out in the sink.

The apartment he lived in with his mother was made up of a grand total of 4 rooms; a bathroom, a room with a kitchen, dining table and living room in one, and two bedrooms. It wasn't much, but to Frank it was home and he didn't know any better. His bedroom was the smallest room in the apartment and his bed took up at least ninety per cent of the floor space. The rest of the room was covered in unwashed clothes and the space under his bed was a hiding spot for stuff he didn't want his mother to see.

Straightening up, he looked in the mirror, his hair still dripping. Quickly he soaked up the last water droplets on his shoulders before dressing himself. The nights were gradually getting colder so he slept in sweatpants and old t-shirts that used to belong to his father. Even after a million washes and six years they still smelled like him. Frank missed his father as much as any other young boy would, but he knew that his father was now in a better place.

His dad committed suicide when Frank was eleven. After several warnings from his bosses which always ended up in him getting fired, he gave up. He felt worthless. Not even his wife or his son could make him see anything in a positive light anymore, which was when he started taking anti-depressants. His wife had made him take them in a desperate effort to help her husband. If anything it made him feel more of a failure. One night after he got back from the gas station, the only place he could find work, he overdosed. Frank was the one who found him.

The image of his dead father on the bathroom floor was still imprinted on Frank's retina. It haunted him every day. Although he would never think of his father as weak, he still wondered why he did it. He still wondered if he could have done anything to stop him, to help him. It was too late now, he thought.

He went into the kitchen and grabbed the last two pots of Ramen, making a mental note to buy more on Monday. His mum was sat on the sofa, watching what looked like a programme about Australia. He knew it had always been her dream to move there one day, when things looked brighter for them. As it turned out, she would never go. Tears welled up in Frank's eyes but he bit them back, he needed to be strong for her.

* * *

Gerard clutched the ends of his Spider Man duvet, trying to relax yet failing miserably. All he could think about was Frank. Before he got into bed, he'd drawn him a few times. He enjoyed tracing his delicate features and admiring his own work. He could not deny it now, he thought Frank was beautiful. He loved the way his jaw line was shaped perfectly. He loved how a nose ring suited Frank and made him look cute instead of dangerous. He loved the colour of Frank's eyes and the way they looked at Gerard, like he needed him.

Thinking about Frank, Gerard relaxed, hoping that he would be able to see Frank again the next day. He had nothing on on Sundays but the art store would be closed and he didn't know his address or his phone number. He decided not to worry about it and, with the thought of reading comics with Frank resting peacefully in his mind, he dozed off.

He didn't know for how long he'd slept because he preferred not to have any clocks in his room and the only window through which light could enter was covered by hanging curtains. For some reason he wasn't tired. When he heard a knock on his bedroom door, he nearly jumped out of his skin. Bolting towards the door, he almost tripped over a stray comic.

As he opened the creaking door, he was surprised to see his mother standing there. He'd expected it to be Mikey, most likely asking if he'd hidden another of his porn magazines. His heart skipped a beat and ran a mile, when his mother stepped aside and revealed the small, fragile boy who appeared in all of Gerard's drawings of the past week.

"Gee, I heard someone knocking at the door and, well, he said he wanted to see you," she whispered, "just, take care of him. I… I'm worried, Gerard. He won't talk to me."

"Sure, mom," he replied, taking Frank's outstretched hand and hugging him. "Come on, Frankie," he said quietly, closing the door behind him.

They stared at each other and at the floor for a while before Gerard took Frank's hand again and led him over to the bed. Taking this opportunity, Frank instantly threw himself onto the bed and wrapped Spider Man around him. Like a protective force field, Gerard thought.

Gerard sat down next to him, cradling him in his arms. Holding Frank like this made him feel wanted, needed and he cherished the feeling. He rested his head on Frank's and whispered, "it's okay, Frankie. I'm here for you."

At that moment, Frank burst into tears, throwing his arms around Gerard, holding on for dear life.

"She's gone!" He yelled, the sound muffled by Gerard's t-shirt. Pounding Gerard's chest with his fists, he repeated "she's gone, SHE'S FUCKING GONE."


	10. Chapter 10

Frank was lying curled up next to Gerard, head leaning on Gerard's chest. He had told Gerard exactly what had happened, stuttering and spilling tears everywhere. Gerard had given him a navy blue sweatshirt because he was shivering, but not from the cold, and it was still damp as he laid there hours later, tears silently dripping from his eyes. He was unsure of the time for Gerard had no clocks in his room or anything that indicated the passing of time.

* * *

It surely must have been at least five hours or more since Frank had left his apartment shortly after midnight. After checking on his mother before going to bed, he found her lying motionless, peaceful on the sofa. Her eyes closed, as if in a serene sleep. Instantly he knew she was gone. He was alone.

He had no one.

He didn't cry. Throughout the whole ten minutes he stayed in the apartment trying to fathom what would happen from then on, he was in a state of shock, unable of reasonable thought. His head was spinning, his thoughts running marathons through his mind. He was lost. Alone.

Something snapped inside him. Suddenly he felt he should have been stronger, a better son to his mother and father. Then they would still be here, be with him. Angrily he had punched the wall, destroying the skin on his knuckles.

"FUCK YOU," he yelled at the concrete, cradling his fist, "FUCK."

He kicked the kitchen table leg, and cursed at himself. How could he have let his mother down? It was all his fault and he would never forgive himself. He had to take care of her and now she was gone. It was his job.

"It's my fault," he groaned, leaning against the wall and sagging to the floor. His knees were weak. Every part of his body either hurt or was numb.

He loathed himself.

He sat against the wall for a few minutes, regaining his breath, trying to get a grip. Realizing the only thing stopping him from ending his own life, was Gerard. It was strange to him how he had become so close to him in a matter of days.

The past weeks he'd thought of nothing but the young man in the art store, and since the day he plucked up the courage to finally speak to him, he was at last making a friend. The prospect of a friend appealed to him more than ever. At the moment he had no one but Gerard but he was scared that even he wouldn't want him. What was Frank to him anyway?

A million and one thoughts raced through his head, but only one stuck out. He had to find Gerard. He had to be with him now for he needed him to hold him, to tell him it was okay, to tell him that he'd be there for him. Abandoning his stay-inside-forever mentality, he stood up, grabbed his windbreaker that hung over one of the dining chairs and shut the apartment door behind him, not looking back.

* * *

Frank slowly moved his head, trying not to wake Gerard with any sudden movements. For a few minutes all he had thought about and felt was the heat radiating from Gerard's body and all he wanted was for this night, this feeling to stay. No pain. No hurt. Just him and Gerard and the protective force field of Spider Man to keep him safe.

He knew it would have to end at some point, but for now, he cherished every moment of warmth he shared with Gerard. He knew that he'd be required to return to the apartment, to his mother. Suddenly, like he'd swallowed a huge chunk of ice, he filled with dread. There would be a funeral. There would be lawyers. They would take him away to a foster home. Or worse, an orphanage. Did they even exist anymore? He'd only ever read about them in books and they were said to be horrible. The thought of being taken away from Gerard and Spider Man made him tremble, made his blood curdle. Never in a million years would he let them take him. Ever.

Realizing he was shivering, he cuddled up in Gerard's (possibly XXL) sweater and exhaled deeply. He hunched his shoulders, relaxed them again and gently laid his head back on Gerard's chest.

Right now all he did was hope things would be all right one day. He knew that chance was minimal for he had no one. No father. No mother. No friends but Gerard. Holding on to the chance that their small friendship would develop into something beautiful, something worth getting out of bed for in the morning, he dozed off again with no clue what time it was. Time was irrelevant. All that was, was him and Gerard and their chance at happiness.

* * *

The trek down the grey concrete stairwell was unpleasant, even more so because apparently there was a fresh pile of vomit in the corner of the second floor. Great. It also turned out the owner of the vomit hadn't quite made it up the staircase properly, Frank saw. He regarded a dark figure splayed over the concrete. That couldn't be comfortable, Frank thought, half-wanting to kick him to see if he moved. He didn't.

Traipsing through copious amounts of black, shiny, overflowing garbage bags, trying not to step on anything suspicious, he made his way out of the apartment block and away from the stinking neighbourhood. He was fucking sick of it, he hated living there. Somewhere in his mind, he hoped he could stay with Gerard and live with him. But that was ridiculous, so he crushed that thought into dust in his mind. Or at least he tried to.

The wind threw his hair around his face and pressured his lungs. Despite feeling as if a million tiny soldiers were pricking needles in every part of his body, he turned a corner and marched across the street to face the art store. When he saw the pots of glitter in the window, he felt a rush of warm familiarity, thinking back to the day he met Gerard.

He remembered what Gerard asked him that day. Yes, he loved comics and yes, he would love to read them with him. That afternoon was printed firmly in his mind as a light at the end of a long, black tunnel that was his life. He knew that sounded melodramatic, but whatever, he though. Gerard would help him, he was sure of it. Gerard had helped him stay strong the past few weeks, even when he wasn't around. Frank didn't really know why he felt so suddenly attracted to him, or interested in him.

But what he did know, was that he wanted to get out of the biting wind. He'd forgotten a scarf and the dark October nights were becoming increasingly colder. Wrapping his arms around himself, he walked briskly on, studying the cracks in the pavement with close precision. _Move out of this fucking shithole as soon as possible_, Frank noted to himself.

* * *

"Hey, Frankie, wake up," Gerard whispered, receiving no reply for a good few minutes. He had woken up finding Frank lying on top of him, confident both his legs were now incapacitated. _I'm going to spend the rest of my life in a wheelchair thanks to a scrawny little boy_, he thought endearingly.

Surprised at finding he could move both his legs, yet with a slight case of pins and needles, he nudged Frank again.

"Gerroffme," he grumbled jokingly, when he noticed Frank's beautiful hazel eyes opening. Without thinking, he leaned down and kissed Frank on the forehead. Pulling back shocked, he saw Frank smiling weakly up at him. That was when Gerard promised himself, that whatever happened, he would stay with Frank and help him through everything. He promised himself. He promised Frank.

"C'mon, Frankie, gerroff," Gerard repeated, chuckling, feeling a wave of endearment for the boy wash over him. He threw Frank gently off himself and chucked a cushion with a Batman print at him. A pillow fight ensued, with both of them giggling uncontrollably and infectiously.


	11. Chapter 11

"You mean there's a dead body in Frank's house?" Donna shrieked, not believing what she was hearing.

"Um, well. Yeah, he left her there. He was _scared_, mum, and he was probably not thinking straight. I'm bloody sure _I_ would be, if _you_ suddenly snuffed it and I'd be the one to find you." Gerard answered, annoyed she wasn't taking the information as well as he'd hoped. He knew it was unreasonable to think she'd take well to hearing there was a cadaver in the dingy apartment where Frank lived, but still.

"Yes, well, that isn't going to happen any time soon, I can tell you. But that doesn't take away from the fact there's a _corpse_ lying on the sofa in Frank's apartment," Donna replied, exasperated and nervous. What on earth was she going to do? She was harbouring a runaway orphan who was clearly in no fit state to do anything but crawl into the fetal position next to Gerard on the sofa, she observed. Gerard was being as difficult as ever, and she was getting increasingly frustrated with the situation at hand.

"It's not like we're going to f-, I mean, just leave it there forever. We need to call an ambulance or, well no," Gerard corrected himself, "definitely a cemetery dude who can like, take care of stuff. I don't know if Frank has any relatives."

He called Frank over and enquired whether he had an uncle or grandfather who could take care of the state of affairs. As it turned out he did still have an uncle, but he was living somewhere in New Hampshire and Frank didn't know the exact address or his phone number. His mother never particularly liked her husband's brother, and neither did Frank, for a great amount of reasons. Him being a wife beater and misogynist were two of many. The times Frank had shared the same space with him – for the simple reason that birthdays were somewhat of a tradition and showing up was mandatory – all he had done was sit on the sofa, ignoring everyone who tried to talk to him, while his uncle downed grand amounts of beer and telling awful jokes, usually insulting people in his vicinity. He hated the sight of him.

The prospect of having him taking care of the death of his mother therefore did not particularly strike Frank's fancy. In _any _way.

"So what are we going to do?" Frank asked timidly after telling Gerard he didn't like his uncle and didn't want to see him.

"Well," Gerard didn't know. He looked at his mother expectantly for she always had a plan. She always knew what to do. That's why he looked up to her so much.

* * *

"So, how come you have so many comics?" Frank asked Gerard as he flipped through an early edition of a Batman comic. He was sitting cross-legged on the bed, not paying an awful lot of attention to what he was reading. All he could think about was his mother and the vision of having his alcoholic uncle being his guardian until he was of age. The thought severely depressed him, but he couldn't shake it off. Glancing ever so often towards Gerard's back, wondering what kind of pictures he was making, he hoped guiltily that he could live with Gerard. He knew that was impossible, though.

Gerard was very secretive about his art, thought Frank as he regarded Gerard's hunched back, and he didn't know why. He thought Gerard's drawings were all really good.

Gerard turned around to face him. "I don't know. Well, I mean, I used to go to jumble sales and I got most of the classics on the web for, like, next to nothing. The one you're reading now was actually printed in Washington or something. I've stopped ordering them now, though. Not enough cupboard or floor space, I'm 'fraid." He chuckled, as he looked at the boy sitting awkwardly on his bed, as if he felt he were trespassing on Gerard's private space.

Donna was out, probably taking care of whatever legal issues there probably were concerning Frank's late mother, Gerard presumed. Mikey was either playing Call of Duty or jerking off to porn. Both options were highly likely for Mikey's Sunday afternoons. Homework was definitely out of the question.

So Gerard and Frank had some time alone together, undisturbed, Gerard had locked the basement door. Mikey had raised his eyebrows skeptically and his brother had flipped him the bird. _What a douche he was sometimes_, Gerard thought to himself.

"I just can't believe she's _gone_, you know?" Frank said softly, his voice breaking, tears already welling up in his eyes. He quickly dabbed them away with the cuff of Gerard's sweatshirt, desperately hoping Gerard wouldn't see him crying. Again. "It feels so weird just sat here reading comics with you, I mean, you're drawing but still. It just feels like I've known you forever and my dad is gone and my mum is dead and," he paused to catch his breath, "just, it doesn't _feel _like she's really gone at all, you know?" He continued, slower this time, sounding confused, tired.

Gerard was sitting at his desk and it took all his willpower not to get up and sit down next to Frank and hold him, tell him he knew how it felt. Frank would want that, he thought. In times of grieving people never like to hear that other people feel the same way, or have felt the same way. You'd think they'd want a bit of comfort, to know they're not alone, but he knew from experience people became selfish almost when confronted with grief.

He himself had locked himself in his basement for months after his grandmother had passed away. Mikey had accused him of being egocentric. "I loved her too!" He had yelled at Gerard. Yet they both knew it was different for Gerard. She was his hero, she was simply everything to Gerard. They were unbelievably close and Gerard had never really been the same since her death. It had been when he started drawing, but it had also caused a few of Gerard's lowest points in life, his depression and suicide attempt. Not wanting to delve into those memories, Gerard mentally closed the door and set his mind on his drawing.

Instead of comforting Frank, he continued inking in a sketch of a dead pigeon on the sidewalk. Not the most uplifting piece of art he had ever created – _no shit, Gerard_, a little voice in his head said – but he felt that the delicate way he'd shaped the pigeon's body, making it look fragile yet not totally broken, depicted a slight emotion of… insecurity? _No, that wasn't it._ Struggling to find a correct, fitting adjective, Gerard sighed and inked the carefully sketched feathers in with care.

Aware of the sudden awkwardness of not having answered Frank, Gerard let his mind waver and didn't pay attention to which part of the bird he was inking.

"That's really good," he heard a voice say softly next to his ear, startling him and causing him to blot the paper. Gerard hadn't noticed Frank get off the bed and itch closer to him.

Frank was curious as to what Gerard was making and, because he hadn't answered him, he had gotten off the bed and now regarded the picture of the dead pigeon with the growing black spot on one of its wings.

"Oh, Gerard, I'm _so _sorry. I didn't mean to make you jump," he almost squeaked, close to tears. Gerard cut him off before he could spout more incomprehensible, useless apologies.

"'S okay. Shit drawing anyway," he sighed.

"No, it's not! It's _really _good! Wish I could draw like that," Frank tried to reassure him, clearly in awe.

Gerard scoffed and muttered a small 'thank you', secretly pleased at the praise. Remembering that Frank had been telling him about his mother and he'd not been paying much attention, he asked him, not wanting to seem like a total asshole, if he wanted to take a walk.

* * *

It was only about three o'clock and the shady figures only really appeared from six onwards. So, Gerard still had time to show him the pond where he always used to play with his younger brother. He and Mikey used to go there in secret, for his mother would probably have an aneurysm if she ever found out.

The neighbourhood they lived in wasn't as dangerous as Frank's but nevertheless unpleasant. His mother had never let them play outside as kids, but whenever she went to work Mikey had dragged Gerard along to play with him. Having always known their mother's work schedule by heart, they were always home in time so she'd never know they'd been out the house at all.

Frank agreed they should get some fresh air and laid aside the Batman comic he was still clutching in his small, pale hands. Gerard informed Mikey they'd be back in an hour or so and grabbed Frank's windbreaker and his own trench coat off the hooks in the narrow hallway. Closing the door behind him and Frank, Gerard felt the boy grasp his hand and he smiled, looking down at Frank returning the smile. _He was beautiful_, Gerard realized again.


	12. Chapter 12

"I used to come here a lot as a child, and when I was depressed too. It helped me think, I guess. The calming sound of the breeze and the rippling water and the ducks, you know? I came here to escape from the shit at home, the dreary atmosphere. This just felt so much more... quiet" Gerard rubbed his hands together, keeping them warm. "Cleared my head and stuff. It was here that I decided to get better so, uh. I don't know, it's just a special place to me and I hope it can help you like it helped me." He was telling Frankie as they sat on the grass next to the pond, chewing on reeds. Realizing what he said sounded extremely bland and corny, he hoped Frank hadn't heard him. He seemed lost in his own little world at the moment.

Frank stared across the pond, deep in thought, only half taking in what Gerard was saying. Everything right now was too much. First his father, then his mother, hearing he'd probably be taken away from his only friend he'd ever had in his life. There was only so much he could stand.

Finally he broke, he collapsed and burst into tears. He couldn't take it anymore. Rocking left and right with his arms around his pulled up knees, he tried to bite back the tears and didn't succeed. Salty drops fell onto his windbreaker and onto the grass.

"What am I supposed to do?" He wailed, desperately. "Where am I gonna go? I, ... I can't go to an orphanage or a foster home or whatever. I just can't. I won't leave you. I won't." Still rocking, he lost his balance and fell to his right onto his side. Sobbing, he crawled over to Gerard and laid his head on his legs.

Gerard took him in his arms, trying to find the proper words to soothe him, once more finding he couldn't, just like in his bedroom. There were simply no words to console the boy. _His situation fucking sucked_, he thought, finding no more accurate description.

"I don't want to go to school tomorrow. I don't… I can't take it, Gee. Everyone will pretend they care but no one fucking _means _it," he said angrily through his tears, "they all hate me anyway." He fumbled with the hem of the sweatshirt that stuck out from underneath his windbreaker.

"I just," he sighed, "I don't know what I'm doing wrong, you know? I don't know why they feel it's necessary to make _every _day a living hell for me, why they think it's funny to beat the shit out of me _every _day." He groaned, defeated, unaware of himself pressing his head against Gerard's legs in frustration.

"What the actual fuck?" Gerard was appalled. "Why didn't you tell me? How long has this been going on? Jesus Christ, Frank." Realizing he sounded like his mother, he kicked himself yet he felt he needed to help Frank, needed to know more about the situation. He couldn't just sit idly by and watch him hurt, could he?

"Oh, I don't know. Few years." Frank replied nonchalantly, not entirely sure why he'd mentioned it, let alone told Gerard. He didn't want him to worry. _Too late now, motherfucker_, he thought. _Well fucking done, Frank_.

"We gotta do something about it, Frank," Gerard exclaimed, still desperately trying to make Frank see how important the issue was. If he was past caring or just plain didn't show he was hurt, Gerard didn't know.

"What the fuck can _you _do, though, Gee?" Frank glared at him.

"Hey, I'm not letting my best friend get beaten up by unworthy fuckers because he's … because he's a great guy," was Gerard's heartfelt, yet lame response. _What a charmer you are_, he complimented himself sarcastically.

"That doesn't answer my question," Frank noticed.

"Well, at least talk to your teachers, the principle, _anyone_, just notify them of the problem. Then, they can intervene when shit goes down in class or in the hallways or whatever. I don't know, man, you gotta do _something_." Gerard said.

Frank remained unconvinced, "experience has taught me one thing," he said. "That no matter how many fucking people know, no one fucking does anything. They're either scared or apathetic, I don't fucking know, man. They talk to the bullies maybe once, and then it stops for a while, but then it comes back twice as fucking hard. Trust me. I've been cornered way too many times outside school premises resulting in me on the floor and them kicking my brain in. Not what I call a good time, thank you very much," he replied, wishing Gerard would stop badgering him, but secretly pleased he had called him his best friend. Maybe he really could help him. _And maybe the moon was actually made of fucking cheese, yeah right, Frank._

Gerard looked down into Frank's eyes, reassuring him he didn't have to talk about it if he didn't want to, stroking his hair absent mindedly. Frank shifted himself upwards so he was sitting parallel next to Gerard and Gerard put his arms around him, cradling him like a small child.

In reply, Frank rested his head on one of Gerard's arms, silently weeping tears of bitterness.

Against his better judgment he began recanting the times Benjamin Howard had shoved him in a locker, or had made fun of him in class, and the amount of times Jeremy Davis had dumped his schoolbag or his PE clothes in the toilet, or the way Mark Steinberg had insulted and beaten him up in the hallways and the school yard together with Ben and Jeremy, and had convinced the whole school he was an "attention seeking faggot", how he and his merry band of bullying companions had made pamphlets with texts along the lines of "Iero likes it up the butt" and similar versions.

Gerard was horrified. He could see no reason at all why Frank had to be a bully magnet. From experience he knew kids picked on the odd one out, and Frank didn't particularly look the part of an average almost-sixteen year-old boy. His oddly cut hair, with the long floppy part at the top, his interesting eye makeup, his straight-edge, punk-rock looking clothes and his general attitude towards everything didn't exactly measure up to a public school's standards of Average Teenager.

Whatever anyone else thought of Frank didn't matter in the slightest to Gerard, though. To him, Frank was still beautiful and no one could ever take that away from him. One's appearance should never be a reason to bully someone so vehemently. _Nothing ever should be a reason_, he added.

"But what do you _do _when they pull shit like that on you?" He asked him, infuriated.

"I punch 'em one," was Frank's answer. This pleased Gerard. It wasn't as if he'd expected anything less from him, but he still regarded Frank's tiny body as fragile and weak, not at all a fighter's build. Guilty of thinking so little of Frank's ability to punch someone, he squeezed his muscles, making Frank giggle. It was the cutest sound ever, Gerard found.

"I usually get into trouble though," Frankie half grinned, half grimaced, "It's like the teachers single me out too, but I know that's bullshit. They just never catch Mark or Ben in the act, when they've got me pinned to the lockers demanding my fucking lunch money. They always fucking notice _me_, when I've got my fist in their face, though, the fuckers." He explained, frustration oozing through his every word.

Gerard moaned in response and allowed Frank to snuggle up to him, laying his head on his lap. Frank, frustrated and wound tighter than a rubber band, instantly relaxed by the feeling of Gerard's natural body heat against him. He would lay there forever if it was up to him.

Staring up at the pearly grey clouds, Frank wondered what it'd be like to be a bird, to be able to fly. No rules, no restrictions, no people telling you you couldn't be who you were or wanted to be. Just wide open spaces and freedom and… worms. _Minor drawback_, Frank thought.

* * *

Donna was waiting for them, when they returned, much to Gerard's surprise for he hadn't expected her so early.

"Hey, mum, how were things?" He asked when Frank announced he needed to use the lavatory and left the room, heading downstairs towards Gerard's bathroom.

"He's going to have to live with his uncle, anyway, for the time being," she sighed and at seeing the appalled look on her oldest son's face, she hastily added, "until they find him a foster home, because his uncle says he can't take care of him, which I presume can loosely translate to 'he doesn't want Frank.' Nasty man, didn't like him." She sighed again. "You're going to like this part, though," she added, when Gerard still looked miserable.

"What?" He asked, wishing she'd get to the fucking point already. His mother had a special talent for beating around the bush, never quite getting to what she really wanted to say and then eventually forgetting why she started talking in the first place.

"His uncle says he has an important meeting concerning his business – which I thought sounded terribly suspicious. You know I wonder what kind of job he has, Gerard. Could you ask Frank? Nasty man, his uncle is, didn't like him. – um, yes, in two weeks time and he needs to prepare for it." Donna rambled, boring Gerard slightly.

"So?" He drawled, not convinced she was ever going to finish her no doubt riveting tale.

"So, Frank gets to stay with us for the next fortnight," she finally exclaimed, beaming at her son, practically ecstatic at the prospect of having a new chick in her nest, though only temporarily, and also glad Gerard would get to spend more time with his new found friend.

"He's gotta go to school, though, honey. So, I thought that if you could drive him to and from school on Monday and, well the rest of the days, then I'll cook you and Frank your favourite meals. You know I don't like driving," she rambled on, unaware of her son's swiftly altering mood and uneasy glances towards the bathroom door.

"Oh, and take Michael with you too," she added, smiling, turning and heading towards the kitchen to make dinner, leaving Gerard standing at the dining table, with no clue how he was going to tell Frank he had to go to school again.


	13. Chapter 13

"Look, there is no way on earth you are getting me inside that building ever again, you hear?" Frank argued. Still, Gerard insisted on being a spiritual motherfucker today and told Frank to "confront his enemies" and "overcome his fears" to become "in touch with himself" and Frank told him to fuck off. It wasn't like Gerard did anything with his life anyway, he retorted, he just sat in his basement all day and only ever left for food and a piss. He was a hypocrite. And now he was making Frank do exactly what he himself couldn't.

Sunday was spent with Gerard sketching pieces of fruit for an assignment – the first he'd done in months – and Donna fussing over Frank, making sure he was eating and also taking measurements so she could alter Gerard's old school uniform to fit her sister's youngest son who was just starting at the private school in the next town over – Frank was roughly the same height and size as a seventh grader – and Mikey interrogating him about his taste in comics and horror movies while his mother stuck pins in the small boy. Gerard reappeared and overheard the conversation while the coffee maker spewed out a horrid black goop that even Gerard couldn't drink.

The afternoon resulted in a debate between Frank and Mikey whether the first or second Hellboy movie was the better one, and Gerard piping up from the kitchen he preferred Sleepy Hollow anyway, to which his brother replied with, you're a pussy. Gerard knocked him over – probably breaking one of the motherfucker's bones – and he didn't apologize. Mikey rubbed his butt and promised he'd get him back, while Frank giggled uncontrollably, looking like a human version Sonic the hedgehog with all the pins stuck in the overly large blue uniform. Gerard told him this later and Frank said he thought Gerard would make a way better Sonic and that he himself would probably be Amy 'cause he was tiny and girly and stupid. Not that he liked pink!, he reassured Gerard hastily and internally kicked himself for babbling about stupid video game characters with pink dresses.

Mikey decided he liked Frank and let him use his old Pikachu pillow case. Frank was ecstatic and almost launched into full on babble-mode until he remembered the strange look Gerard gave him when he said he would be Amy if Gerard would be Sonic, and refrained from saying anything and just clung to the pillow, grinning.

Over the next few nights Frank used the pillow to stifle his sniffs and moans when he cried at night. He didn't feel it was necessary for Gerard or Mikey to know he was sad, even though Donna and her sons had explicitly said that it was okay if he ever needed to talk or just to cry. Gerard tried to convince him it was totally normal to be distressed, but Frank just shrugged and looked away. Secretly he was glad Gerard was so caring because the first time he had found him crying in bed, he'd held him close and soothed him, promising him things would get better. That first time made it easier for Frank to cry – he was no longer scared Gerard would be mad at him, although he knew Gerard couldn't promise better times.

Chuckling slightly at the sight of Frank practically sending death messages with his eyeballs, Gerard squeezed his knee with his free hand while he held the steering wheel with the other.

"You'll be fine, okay," he responded to Frank's frown, staring at his eyebrows. He liked Frank's eyebrows, he thought to himself.

"It's fucking high school, man. Who the fuck in high school is ever fucking okay?" It wasn't a question. Gerard knew all too well things wouldn't be okay. He wished he could just turn the car the fuck around and get back to the house, where there were no jocks with letter jackets sneering at the younger students, where there were no prissy girls with flirty skirts who made you feel like you weren't worth the shit under their high heels, where there was no one who could shove you into a locker or a dustbin or a janitor closet, where it was safe.

All Gerard wanted to do right now was make a sharp U-turn and get the fuck out of there and never see that building again. It loomed large and threatening up ahead. Silently cursing at the mild traffic of kids on mopeds and older kids in their dad's hand-me-down Volkswagens, he hoped they'd have a minor accident so Frank wouldn't have to enter the old building, a monument dedicated to incredible boredom and the waste of precious hours kids could be spent doing something worthwhile, Gerard thought.

He clenched his knuckles around the steering wheel again, surprised it didn't deform to the shape of his fists, like he'd seen in The Incredibles, a movie Mikey would definitely disapprove of. Although it wasn't exactly hardcore horror, Gerard still enjoyed every single Pixar movie ever made, no matter how much his little brother – and even his mother sometimes too – ridiculed him for it.

Feeling totally not like a strong superhero, he pulled up in the school parking lot, delivering Frank to his doom. Waving goodbye to Frank and Mikey, who had been suspiciously quiet in the back seat, his smile faltered and turned into a look of sheer horror as he saw a group of letter jacket jocks descend on Frank immediately. Scared stiff, he quickly reversed the car and drove off.

* * *

If Donna had expected anything from this day, it wasn't a call from the principal asking if Gerard's mother could come in.

"If Michael's been caught smoking pot again, I'll -," she didn't finish, letting out a moan of frustration, looking disgruntled and confused at the same time. She stood for a minute holding her scarf in one hand and her cell phone in the other, collecting herself. Gerard hated it when it seemed she didn't know what to do and she knew it.

She'd call Tricia from the salon when she got back, she promised herself and crammed the phone into her handbag. Tricia could deal with the salon for an hour or two with Danny-the-mop. Danny-the-mop had been hired recently and Tricia couldn't stand him for he was supposedly rude, ignorant, sloppy, lazy and everything a teenager was in her eyes. Personally, Donna quite liked Danny-the-mo, because he was a sweet kid, just turned eighteen and not exactly the brightest tool in the shed, but he was dedicated – as dedicated as someone could be to sweeping up hair – and was always on time. His clothes and hair were always perfectly in order and Tricia was convinced he was a poof. Not that that mattered, she always reassured anyone who listened.

Saying a quick bye to her eldest, telling him he could heat some soup up if he got hungry and comforting him with familiar maternal phrases, like "you can always call me if you need anything," and "just use the microwave," she bustled out the front door.

Orange, red and brown leaves littered the street, creating a warm, familiar atmosphere and, if it wasn't for the fact it was New Jersey, Donna would have enjoyed the scenery. The air was gentle, the not yet bitingly cold wind that was typical for mid-October softly wafted her hair around her face. The car loomed from the drive way, beckoning her to get out the wind that was destroying her once neat hair and to enter the warm interior of the dangerous machine. She didn't trust it. Not anymore.

_Snap out of it_, Donna scolded herself and took a deep breath. Taking one more look at the house, seeing Gerard standing at the window watching her curiously, she turned on her heels and headed down the road humming Beatles tunes all the way to the school. The dreaded building bothered her just as much as she knew it did her oldest son.

The dark bricks reminded her too much of her own adolescence for her liking. She herself had been popular in her years at high school until an accident in the back seat of her then-boyfriend now deceased husband's old beat up Volkswagen which had led to Gerard, who thankfully didn't and would never know the origins of his conception. After word somehow got out about her pregnancy, her friends had shunned her and no teacher had looked at her the same way again. In the eyes of everyone, she had failed and would never get a job, build a career and become successful. No one got out of this town. Not one. Not Donna.

She had dropped out before graduating and had given birth at home with only her mother, a midwife and her boyfriend Donald present. Her father had barely spoken a word to her. He didn't need to. All he had managed was a small, well-meant "good luck" when she left home to live with Donald in the small house where she was convinced she'd never escape from.

Donna would never forget the heartbroken, disappointed look in her father's eyes. Taking the biggest care of her sons was her way of showing her dad, wherever he was now, that she could succeed, that she could turn this accident around.

_All she had succeeded in was locking herself in a casket of paranoia_, a small voice in the back of her head reminded her.

The nurse let Donna in her office, where she saw Frank sitting in the chair shaking, looking as if he'd been thrown into the the ring of a world class boxing match for heavy weights without gloves. And judging by his small body, Donna concluded that that analogy wasn't entirely far-fetched, after she heard from the nurse that Frank had been found by Mr. Prewitt "engaging in acts of a violent nature" with some kid called Jeremy.

She also concluded that the nurse was an old fashioned bitch. She stared at her in disbelief and quickly scribbled a note for the attendant who stood in the corner of the room observing how Frank was practically draining himself of his blood by sucking one of the wounds on his left hand. From what Donna could see, it was a clean cut, as if from a knife. She gasped and quickly handed the note which read Frank was to be excused from class for the rest of the day to the attendant, who then scurried off to the administration office, leaving a horrible odour of perfume in her wake, and grabbed Frank's right hand and led him towards the door, bidding the nurse goodbye and thanking her for calling.

Frank was happy to be out of the building finally. So was Donna.

The walk home was awkward. The October wind was causing the trees that lined the road to whisper sinister things, creating a mood which Donna thought fitted Halloween – which was only in ten days – perfectly.

Because Frank refused to answer any of the questions Donna asked regarding his bruises, cuts and random smears of blood, Donna became incredibly tense, wondering whether having taken Frank in had been a good idea at all. Instantly she felt guilty. Of course it was. He had no one.

_He's only known me for a week. Why would he trust me at all with whatever's going on? He probably doesn't even want to be with me right now. The only person he ever talks to is Gerard_, she thought. _I'm most likely just another nosy grown up to him. _

Proud of her detailed analysis of Frank's mental state – _har har, she wished_ – she rounded the corner with Frank trudging behind her and crossed the road.

"Mrs. Way?" she heard Frank's timid voice from behind. He'd come to a halt in the middle of the road. For a fleeting moment she panicked, a vision of Frank being run over by a freight truck flashing before her eyes, until she realised there were no freight trucks in this part of New Jersey. _Pull yourself together, Donna._

It was only one o'clock and their neighbourhood was usually totally deserted anyway. Her panic ebbed away.

"What is it, Frank?" she called back.

"Can I have a look in the art store, please?" Frank asked, feeling like a child begging another child's mother for candy. "I'll be back before it's dark, I promise." And Gerard had said he'd be there at three. He didn't say that, though.


	14. Chapter 14

"Hey, could you pass me one of those 6B pencils. They're awesome to smudge with, man," Gerard beckoned towards a pot with at least a few million different grey pencils in it. Frank rummaged through them, trying to find the correct one.

"Dude, how many fucking pencils do you need?" Frank asked, not able to find the exact one Gerard required. The red one with gold stripes at the end. It was his favourite pencil to smudge with, he said.

"I don't know, man. An artist needs at least a few dozen of the same things to _live_, you know?" He responded, violently rubbing his eraser over the paper.

Frank didn't know. All he knew was that Gerard was one crazy motherfucker who had shelves full of finished and unfinished paintings, drawings, sketches, what have you. In fact, he was more than slightly envious of Gerard because he felt he wasn't good at anything other than getting shoved into lockers or getting beaten up every now and again.

Every now and again meaning almost every day.

"Do you wanna talk?" Gerard enquired, again, as he'd been doing for the past three days. He wouldn't fucking give up. It annoyed Frank but at the same time he appreciated Gerard's concern.

Truth was, Frank really, really wanted to, but couldn't find the words to explain to Gerard exactly how he was feeling. What with being an orphan, living with a guy he'd met just two weeks ago, no one understanding him at school, getting awful grades, and being shipped off to live with his hateful uncle who didn't give two shits about him. He wanted to cry. To curl up in Gerard's duvet covers and cry.

"Not really," said Frank, shrugging and passing Gerard his pencil.

"It's okay, man. Whenever you want to, though, you know, I'm always here."

A goofy grin lit up Frank's face. He peered over Gerard's shoulder, still grinning, and saw what Gerard was working on. The drawing was of one of those ugly pigeons Frank often saw down at the school parking lot who always scavenged for dropped sandwiches or semi-empty crisp packets no one wanted. He didn't understand why Gerard would draw an unsightly bird like that, but he assumed artists like Gerard were always kind of weird and misunderstood so he just went with it.

Gerard noticed Frank watching him trace the animal's beak for the seventh time and looked round. Frank jolted backwards and almost fell over a pair of sneakers in the middle of the room.

"Sorry," he yelped, his voice high-pitched and eyes wide and apologetic.

"Chill out, dude," Gerard reassured him it was okay if he wanted to watch. He often didn't get people who were interested in his art. "You want me to teach you?"

Frank nodded eagerly. Gerard smiled and took Frank's hand.

* * *

"I'm tired," Frank sounded utterly defeated to Gerard's ears and he totally wished he could wrap himself around him and keep him safe and warm and not let anything touch Frank ever again. Though, he didn't think Frank would appreciate that, as he'd been acting strangely lately, like he shunned any human contact that was only slightly intimate, or whatever. On most days he'd eat his dinner quickly, thank Donna and then head downstairs into the bathroom and be in bed, snoring gently, before Gerard had even finished his dessert.

And Gerard never passed up dessert, especially if his Mom bought tiramisu from the local baker's. That stuff was fucking divine, he thought. Not this time, though.

He followed him downstairs right after dinner. It was Wednesday night and he knew Frank hadn't touched any of his homework from the past few days. He knew because all Frank did when he got home was put on a Misfits CD and crank up the volume and curl up into a little ball in his sleeping bag and ignore the whole world, including Gerard.

Gerard didn't like it when Frank refused to let him in, refused to talk to him, refused to do anything. It was almost like he didn't want to get over the fact he had no parents, like he didn't want to move on, he thought. He could understand it though, he'd been exactly the same when his grandmother passed away. Though, it wasn't as bad as losing two parents in a short period of time, he admitted, a wave of sympathy for the boy huddled in his Batman sleeping bag washed over him. He closed his eyes and sighed.

Kneeling beside the sleeping bag, he wondered whether Frank would be mad. He decided he didn't care, because what Frank needed right now, even if he didn't admit it, was someone to know how he felt, if only a bit, someone to hold him, someone to confide in for he had no one.

He cradled the Batman-clad bundle in his arms and felt it shaking. Frank was crying. Reaching for the remote control of his CD player – Gerard didn't believe in iPods – he turned off The Misfits, enveloping the room in blissful silence.

"Mmpprph."

"You okay, Frankie?"

"Mphrgmpghh"

They sat there for half an hour, both not knowing how to put into words the situation or their feelings. It didn't matter. Frank stuck his head out of the sleeping bag and it was the cutest thing Gerard had ever seen. Frank's hair stood in every direction possible and despite the tear stains and red blotchiness, Gerard thought Frank looked beautiful. He wanted to make him better again, to make him happy. Frank stared at him, eyes wide and wet with tears, red rings around them smudged with black from his eyeliner, mouth slightly open as if he wanted to say something but didn't know how.

Together they sat there for a while. Frank's sobs became less frequent and less violent and he rested his head on Gerard's stomach as they lay on the floor.

"Thanks," Gerard heard him mumble.

"What?"

"I don't know, just… thanks for being... _you_, you know? Thanks for just sitting here with me and not trying to make me feel like I should get over everything. Just.. _thank you_, Gee."

This was the most Frank had spoken in two days and Gerard was rather taken aback. He didn't think he was doing anything at all to help him, but it was apparently what Frank wanted. He didn't want sympathetic looks or pats on the back or stern words. All he wanted was a friend.

"It's okay, Frankie. I'm not going anywhere," answered Gerard, stroking Frank's hair, twirling it around his fingers as he loved to do and he didn't think Frank minded because he moaned slightly and stretched his legs in his sleeping bag, lying on his side. Frank's head was still resting on Gerard's stomach and he played nervously with Gerard's belt buckle, not really knowing what to do with his hands.

The belt buckle brushed past the lower part of Gerard's torso over his bare skin. His T-shirt had ridden up his back slightly, so his tummy was a bit exposed. Exposed to Frank's breathing. It tickled. He knew it was bad, but Gerard felt that familiar tingle downstairs. The familiar tingle that told him a certain part of his anatomy was getting excited and right now he could really do without that. _Calm down, it's just a fucking belt buckle. Jesus Christ, stop doing that_, he told his sensitive dick. _Stop that, right fucking now._

Cringing with inner turmoil, Gerard tried his best to maintain a straight face, even though he knew Frank couldn't see him.

"Frankie?" Gerard groaned, trying to make it seem like he was uncomfortable. Which he was, obviously, but for different reasons that he was trying to show Frank.

"Oh, sorry," Frankie quickly sat straight up as Gerard exhaled loudly, sitting up and ruffling his own hair.

"It's okay, man. You've just got a heavy head, is all," he chuckled and Frank grinned and looked at his sneakers, playing with the toggles of Gerard's sweatshirt. Gerard was positive he'd not taken it off since he'd been given it. Except maybe for showers, but – _Gerard don't think about that_, he told himself.

He was internally kicking himself for getting an almost-boner in front of a guy who was seriously 4 years younger and was confiding in him, who considered him his only friend. And thinking about him in the shower didn't particularly help his case either. He couldn't help but feel he – or his penis – was taking advantage of Frank and he hated the feeling.

"We should be in bed, Frank, it's late," he said and almost kicked himself again because it sounded too_ let's-get-it-on-Frank_ in his head. Frank didn't seem to notice, though, since he agreed and snuggled into his sleeping bag again, while Gerard went off to brush his teeth.

In the bathroom, Gerard slapped his own face. "Pull. Yourself. Together. Man." He hit himself with each syllable. Splashing cold water in his face woke him up from his sort-of-trance. He was just tired. Tired and groggy and extremely sexually frustrated.

"What's _wrong_ with you?" He asked his reflection, although one half of him knew perfectly well what was wrong with him. Yet the other half didn't see anything wrong with the fact that he may or not be possibly in love with Frank. The other half argued back that Frank probably wasn't even gay and that therefore pursuing a relationship would be futile. The other half responded with a 'fuck you, you don't know that. I can also still look at him, appreciate him and love him without him reciprocating my feelings'.

Gerard rammed his toothbrush into his mouth and brushed passionately, as if his plaque symbolized every bad feeling and he could brush it all away just like that. If only it were that easy, he mused, still furiously spluttering bits of toothpaste everywhere. A drop landed on his shirt. Swearing, he dabbed the white gunk with a wet towel. White fucking gunk. _Gerard, stop thinking about white gunk_, just stop.

Holding the wet towel to his head, scared he was coming down with a fever – a fever of sexual frustration if anything – he sighed and spit out the remaining toothpaste in his mouth, trying his hardest not to think about a certain someone spitting out other white gunk. _Stop it!_

_Where did this come from?_, he asked himself. Gerard was never a very sexual person, he knew this of himself. He never really felt the urge, when he saw what Mikey jerked off to all the time. Of course, he jerked off, but just for the relief, not the aesthetically pleasing part of looking at unnaturally large tits that Mikey enjoyed so much.

Throwing his toothpasty T-shirt into the washing basket and climbing out of his jeans and chucking his socks in after the T-shirt, he showered quickly, jerked off silently (he hoped) and got himself to bed. Once he laid down on the bed, he realised how incredibly tired he was. Turning over, he watched as Frank struggled with the zipper on his sleeping bag and how he finally gave up and threw his head on the pillow and watched the ceiling intently.

Gerard wondered whether he should ask Frank onto the bed. The thin mattress Frank was using didn't look terribly comfortable but he didn't want Frank to get the wrong idea. A voice in his head told him he was being fucking paranoid and that Frank hadn't minded the previous times at all, so Gerard gave in against his better judgment and dropped his hand down the side of his bed. Brushing a lock of hair out of Frank's face, he smiled down at him and asked him if he was okay down there.

"Can I sleep with you?" Frank looked up at him eagerly. The voices in Gerard's head went completely mental. _See, I told you he wouldn't mind. No, but he's just lonely! What does he mean with 'sleep with'? Stop that, he just needs to hug someone, Gerard, stop thinking with your penis, for fuck's sake!_

"Can I?" He looked more unsure, cocking his head to the side and unintentionally widening his eyes._ Didn't Gerard want him anymore? Didn't he care?_ Gerard was awoken from his inner debate and shook his head violently, as if to shake all the voices out of his ears.

"Okay, then," said Frank, miserably, misinterpreting Gerard's head gestures.

"No, no, no, I didn't mean it that way. I just had fuzz in my head, I mean, uh, of course you can sleep with me," stammered Gerard.

Helping Frank up onto the bed, Gerard thought to himself how strange it was that only about two weeks ago they'd seen each other for the first time. Immediately, when he laid eyes upon him, he knew Frankie had a story, a different kind of story than the average fifteen year old kid. He was different, the way he sat, absent-mindedly playing with pots of glitter and laying out different coloured pencils to make a picture. Each time he saw him, he was sat in exactly the same corner, doing something else. He intrigued Gerard, yet he didn't know how to even say hello. That was, until that Friday when Frank said hello first.

All his thoughts, since that Friday had been of Frank or anything related to what was going on with him. The first few days they saw nothing of each other and he wondered if he would ever see him again. He really would have liked to, too, because their small conversation outside the art store, Gerard thought, could be a start to a friendship, even though it sounded horribly clichéd. And Gerard had never had a good friendship except his brother, and Mikey was changing and Gerard didn't like it.

In all the days and nights they'd spent together, either just talking or not talking at all, or reading comics or Gerard teaching Frank how to smudge charcoal and which pencils were used for what, or watching sci-fi movies or re-runs of Buffy, they'd grown closer under the most awful of circumstances. Frank had often cried and Gerard had never exactly known how to comfort him except stroke his hair, which Frank found oddly endearing, or hold him like a small child that yearned for its mother.


	15. Chapter 15

Frank turned over onto his right side, so he wasn't facing the wall anymore, but the sleeping bundle of blue and red material that was Gerard. They had fallen asleep on different ends of the wide bed, but somehow had ended up next to each other. Frank didn't mind. If it were up to him, he'd lay there forever, listening to Gerard's regular breathing that told him it was still real and not all just an extremely elaborate hoax. He did have a friend. If he had nothing left to live for, no father or mother or any relatives he considered family, all he had left was the Ways. He was the closest thing he had left to family.

Never would he have thought that he'd actually end up being friends with someone like Gerard. Not in a million years. Frank had always been impulsive as a child, his outbursts becoming more and more frequent until his father had died. After that, he became subdued, unwilling to talk or go out or do anything at all. His father had meant everything to him. He was his hero, the one person he looked up to. When he was seven years old, his Dad had promised him he'd teach him how to play the guitar, how to make all sorts of knots if they ever went sailing, how to build everything from sandcastles to tree houses, how to pick himself up after a nasty fall and carry on. Everything Frank had learned from his father now seemed utterly useless. He had no mother, no father, no friends except Gerard and he wasn't even sure how long this would last.

He and Gerard were both completely different yet extremely similar at the same time. He had noticed more than merely the shallow joined passion for old school comics, seen past their love for really shitty sci-fi movies and realised they were both incredibly lonely. Gerard didn't talk much either but he was a great listener. Frank hadn't meant at all to pry into Gerard's belongings, but whenever he left the room to get food or do shopping for his Mom, Frank found himself scanning Gerard's shelves, not looking for anything in particular and finding stacks and stacks of drawings in every corner of the small basement. It was mostly out of boredom or curiosity about his surroundings. What did a guy like Gerard do when he was alone? What was he like? What kind of life did he really lead that he wasn't showing Frank?

* * *

Blowing off the thick layer of dust covering one of the many canvases, regretting it instantly as he inhaled a million tiny dust motes and practically coughed his guts up, he gazed at the water colour painting, blinking rapidly to get rid of the dust in his eyes. He turned his head the other way and tried another method: forcing his eyes to stay open so he'd start crying and the dust would leave his eyes with the tears.

When the stinging had finally worn off, Frank looked back at the canvas he was holding, tears still streaming down his face. With his sleeve he wiped his eyes and focused on the painting. It was of two birds, a mother and its baby. Frank thought they were doves, but he wasn't sure. Every white bird had to be either a dove or seagull, he thought, and these birds weren't hideous so they must be doves. As he admired the use of colours, the blues and the oranges flowing together perfectly, and trying his hardest not to touch any of the paint, afraid he might damage it, he heard the creak of the wooden stairs. Panicked, he stared at the door, frozen with shock.

At first he was convinced it was Gerard because whoever it was came all the way up to the bedroom door. Startled, Frank hurriedly tried to stash the canvases back onto their proper shelf, trying to be careful with them. He really didn't want Gerard to find him rummaging through his probably private portfolio. He knew if it were his art, he wouldn't want anyone to look at it, even though it was the best art he'd ever seen.

He had a strong feeling the someone was watching him, but the feeling passed when he heard the groan of the old staircase again that told him whoever had come downstairs had probably changed his mind. Maybe it really was just Gerard and he just fancied some muffins or something. Gerard liked muffins.

Realizing he was still holding another canvas, he glanced down at it, brushing the tips of his fingers over the gently sketched outlines of his own face in horror. Why was there a drawing of him in Gerard's cupboard? Why had he drawn him? This was creepy and strange and Frank didn't know what to do and didn't know what to think. He threw it back on the shelf where he'd found it and scurried back over to Gerard's bed, kicking over the pile of school books in the middle of the room.

He sat down on the bed and looked around him, not knowing what to do. What was that picture doing there? He couldn't get his head around the fact Gerard had drawn him. It creeped him the fuck out.

He could feel his homework beckoning, telling him it wanted to be made, but he ignored it, ignored the fact that he'd get into trouble again. The teachers at school had no patience for him at all anymore. It was easy at the start of the year, because they saw him as the awkward, forgetful kid with the messy hair. They had been sympathetic, glancing at him worriedly or encouragingly, but that deteriorated after the first few days after his father's funeral. It had caused him to be even more forgetful and completely lost and even though the teachers knew this, they felt it necessary to always punish him. Frank hated everything.

Frank knew he was incredibly hostile towards everyone at school and at first no one really blamed him except for Mark Steinberg and his ignorant band of insanely popular jocks. Why they were popular, Frank had no idea. Probably because their strong regime of heterosexual standards and punishments of shoving people like Frank into lockers, if they didn't immediately back down in the lunch row, caused others who were less highly ranked in the school caste system, to fear them.

Frank hated high school. Leaning back against one of Gerard's many cushions that were lined up against the wall next to his bed, he wondered what life would be like as one of those jocks. Would he be happier if he were feared at school instead of completely invisible? Would having a cheerleading girlfriend make his life any better? Was being popular all worth it in the end?

He knew the answer to all those questions: no. He had survived without ever having played football in his life, or without ever having a girl double back for a second look at him, or without ever being cheered on by anyone in his life but his father. He wasn't going to say he was doing well, but to him, having a girlfriend or a spot on the football team wasn't one of his priorities. What were his priorities? Frank had no idea. To him, it wasn't as if he had anything to live for or anyone to make proud of him like the rest of the kids at school who all had lots of friends. Who had parents.

Grabbing one of Gerard's many pillows – he must have at least fifty, Frank swore – and stuffing it in his face, he let himself fall sideways onto the bed and kicked his sneakers off and pulled his legs up onto the bed as well. Curling into a little ball, he inhaled and immediately regretted it. The pillow smelled of unwashed dude hair. Unwashed Gerard hair.

He grabbed another pillow while his tummy made a gorgling sound, either demanding food or warning Frank it was about to upchuck. He hoped it was the former and that the person who had come downstairs and gone upstairs again a minute ago really was Gerard getting muffins.

Muffins.

His mother always made the best muffins Frank had ever tasted in his life.

Frank felt an overwhelming desire for human contact arise. More specifically, contact with his mother, his father. Although he knew he'd never ever see them again in this life, on this earth, he didn't want to accept the fact that they were simply gone. If they were gone, he would know. He would feel it. Or not feel it. Somehow, he still felt his mother and father at times, as if they were watching over him. He didn't exactly believe in guardian angels or life after death or heaven or hell. But he sort of felt that there had to be something, that you couldn't just be gone.

Mulling the idea of zombie parents over in his head, he dozed off again. His sleep was filled with dreams about zombie parents and Gerard chasing them with a dozen HB pencils.

* * *

He still hadn't told Gerard about the drawing of himself, although he knew Gerard probably knew he'd drawn Frankie, unless he sleep-drew or something. Gerard was so weird, Frank wouldn't put it past him. He still felt watched all the time, as if Gerard would whip out his sketchbook at any time and start drawing him when he wasn't looking.

It was only about 5 in the morning, Frank guessed, but he was already dreading school. Thursdays were always the worst. He had double P.E. the first two periods and then double math with Mark Steinberg as well, just to make things worse. P.E. was bad enough, because Frank always got picked last, even though he wasn't even that bad at baseball or football. He swore Mark and Jeremy blackmailed everyone into picking him last, because, face it, he was a loser. Math was worse because Frank had gotten behind on all the work, still struggling with the second chapter while the rest of the class seemed to effortlessly course through the eighth chapter.

Climbing off the high bed, making sure he didn't disturb Gerard who was still snoring like a freaking chain saw, he went over to the pile of books that lay in the middle of the rug. He flipped through the first few pages; he did understand small equations with x but once he got to the part where the teacher said he should start, he almost threw the book through the room. What did all of this mean? When was he ever going to use functions and long equations like this in his life? He tried solving an equation but only ended up with fractions which the teacher said weren't allowed. He hated everything.

Debating whether he should still ask Gerard about the drawing and coming to the conclusion that he shouldn't because Gerard should be able to draw whatever he wanted except that it was still Frank's face that Gerard had wanted to draw and everything confused Frank. He decided to lie down.

* * *

"Jesus Christ, Iero!" Jeremy called out, "You still letting that fag drive you to school?" He walked over with a slight bounce, probably thinking he owned the place.

"Nice swagger you've got there. D'you get it at Wal-Mart or Target?" Frank fired back, and opened his locker, trying to look completely uninterested in what Jeremy was going to say next.

"Watch your mouth, you faggot," Jeremy sneered, grabbing Frank's shoulder and shoving him up against the locker. Trying not to wince at Jeremy's words or the sharp pain in his back, Frank spat at him.

"Isn't this cozy, Jeremy? Me up against a locker and you in full control. Bet that turns you on," he added a little smile and raised his eyebrows suggestively.

Jeremy lashed out and hit Frank's jaw with an earsplitting crack. "Shut the fuck up, you faggot," he roared, landing another fist in Frank's stomach. It was almost worth it, thought Frank, watching Jeremy turning red and embarrassed at the suggestion of him being gay. It totally went against all of Jeremy's heterosexual norms and Frank would have giggled if he wasn't in the biggest pain ever.

Frank slumped against the lockers, watching Jeremy storm off to join more obviously extremely heterosexual football players in their tirade against other freshmen. The hallway was deserted except for a few sophomore girls taking pictures of each other pouting their lips, which Frank thought looked incredibly stupid. He ignored their faces and concentrated on how their long legs gracefully swayed when they walked, and how their hair looked immaculate even though they were only at school. As if high school as some kind of fashion show, he snorted. At least they had nice legs.

The view from where he was sat was pleasant, though, so he sat and waited for the bell to ring for class. He'd forgotten his P.E. clothes, on purpose or accidentally, he still didn't really know, yet he was still forced to be present at the actual lesson so he'd brought one of Gerard's Spider Man comics because those were his favourites.

Frank jolted out of his sleep when the final bell of the day rang, indicating he was free for the rest of the day. Except for the pile of homework and extra work I have to do, thought Frank. After emptying his locker of the stuff he needed for tomorrow, he left the building as fast as possible, evading any part of the hallway that contained a combination of letter jackets and footballs.

Out of the corner of his eye, he swore he saw Mikey standing behind a white van in the parking lot with a bunch of his friends, but when he looked again, Mikey was gone. Frank shrugged it off as a trick of the mind. There were lots of skinny, brown-haired boys at this school.

Frank quickly found the car that belonged to Gerard and made his way over, ignoring the jocks jeering at him from their cars. He hoisted his backpack up higher on his shoulder and stared at his moving feet, hoping they'd bring him to the car safely without tripping up over any sneakered feet belonging to Steinberg and his followers.

"Hey," Gerard called, "get in quick. Where's Mikey?"

"I dunno."

"He was supposed to meet me here when he's finished. He's always done that."

"He might just be with his friends, you know?" Frank offered after ten minutes.

"Yeah, but he usually asks before he goes with them. Or he calls when he gets to their house. I don't know, man, something just doesn't feel… right." Gerard looked around uneasily, as if expecting Mikey to come jumping out from behind one of the few remaining cars in the lot. A desperate look in his eyes told Frank something bad had probably happened.

"Let's get in the car," he finally said, watching Frank for any tell tale signs that he might or might not know where Mikey was. As if this was all some practical joke that wasn't funny at all.


	16. Chapter 16

Mikey wasn't at home either and Gerard was becoming even more worried than Frank could imagine anyone could be. He found it adorable despite the situation and he thought again about that time when he had kissed Gerard on his doorstep a million years ago and that time when Gerard had kissed him when Frank had stayed the night after his mother – he didn't want to go there. All he wanted to think about was those kisses, how awfully cheesy that sounded to him. He didn't want to think about his deceased mother and he felt horrible for that. Shouldn't he be honouring her memory? Gerard had said that it was totally normal to not want to think or talk about it, precisely because it was something traumatizing and Frank was very young and therefore more prone to trauma. Gerard thought he was young. Gerard had said he was young. Frank didn't know why, but it made him feel inferior, as if all he was to Gerard was just a younger kid he was obligated to take care of. Somewhere, though, he knew that wasn't true. They had kissed, right? But they weren't even proper kisses and what did it even mean?. Neither of those times had been very romantic, as Frank thought a kiss was supposed to be, but more impulsive and desperate. Frank realised he really was desperate for Gerard's touch, the feel of his body warmth and his safe arms around him. He didn't want to seem too needy in the eyes of Gerard, so he stayed at a safe distance where Gerard wouldn't notice Frank's internal screams for attention, for love and for respect and understanding. He had never gotten those things since his father died.

As he watched Gerard fumble with the door keys and pace the kitchen floor, he noticed again how attractive Gerard was. He didn't have incredibly pronounced features and nothing really stood out but that's what Frank thought was so beautiful. If he ever had to describe Gerard to anyone who hadn't see him before, he probably couldn't. He didn't have a sharply angled nose or perfectly shaped eyebrows or a strongly defined jaw line, but Frank loved that most. His soft features and flawed skin made Gerard Gerard and Frank found himself entirely not listening to a word Gerard was saying. Not deeming Gerard's pondering about whether to have spaghetti Bolognese or lasagna for dinner that night very interesting, he continued to watch him inconspicuously, looking down at Spider Man every time Gerard looked his way.

He did hear him decide to have the Bolognese after all – because he said it was easier and faster to prepare and he was starving – until his Mom came home, or Mikey himself. Frank nodded, still half daydreaming about Gerard. Was this how Gerard thought of him too when he'd drawn him, focusing on every aspect of Frank's face; his eyes, his eyebrows, the angle of his nose, his cheekbones, even his ears? Frank had really girly eyebrows and he hated them and he didn't think too much of the rest of his face either, but he'd learnt to live with the fact that he wasn't beautiful but just an average teenager and he had to make the most of it. But did Gerard think his face was nice and he'd drawn it for that reason? Did Gerard enjoy his features and did he watch Frank too when he wasn't looking? Did Gerard also have creepy fantasies about Frank in his underwear and sometimes less and – Frank was going to stop this thought right there.

_Shut up Frank, of course he doesn't think that way. He's an artist, for fuck's sake. He draws stuff. That's what artists do. They draw stuff._

"We have a strange friendship, don't we?" Frank said nervously, chuckling a bit and wincing at the stabbing pain he still felt in his stomach and his ribs from where Jeremy had punched him. Now wasn't really the time to remember all the punches he'd ever been given, but it still came back ten times as hard. Especially since his stomach was Jeremy's favourite target. If he didn't eat a muffin, he was seriously going to hurl.

"Do we?" asked Gerard, indifferently. Both of them were sat on Gerard's bed, munching on muffins while Frank's mattress lay forgotten in the corner of the room.

"Yeah, I mean we totally didn't know each other but you took me in and helped me and -" Frank interrupted himself to take a bite of a muffin. If he was going to say anything embarrassing, he would make sure it was incomprehensible due to the amount of muffin in his mouth obstructing his vocals. Yes, he was now admitting to himself he was falling for Gerard but no, now was not the time to be bringing it up, especially since Gerard's brother was missing and Gerard was in a state of pure anxiety and Frank had never been in a relationship before, let alone with a guy. Let alone a guy who was four years older than himself. Deciding to nip this conversation in the bud as quickly as he had started it, he jumped off the bed, announcing he needed to use the bathroom.

He closed the door and locked it behind him so Gerard couldn't walk in on him. For some reason he didn't feel like crawling into the fetus position on the floor anymore, like he did a few moments before. Instead, he splashed some cold water in his face and wet his chest and back. Slightly cooled down and more focused, he rested his eyes upon his own reflection in the mirror. Was this really worth Gerard's blank paper? He was an artist, sure, but shouldn't artists create pictures that were beautiful and not just people like Frank who were average and not beautiful? Don't flatter yourself by thinking Gerard thinks you're beautiful, Frank told himself sternly, but he still had a tiny flicker of hope inside him; hope that Gerard thought he was attractive, just like Frank thought Gerard was attractive. Their ages weren't that far apart, anyway, it could work. Feeling strangely optimistic all of a sudden, Frank returned to the bedroom where he soon snuggled down with Gerard on his bed with Gerard's arms around him and nothing in the world could hurt him anymore.

* * *

"Mikey, where the FUCK were you, oh my GOD," Gerard yelled, only half angry and his voice muffled as his mouth was buried deep in Mikey's coat. He couldn't be angry at his brother, ever. He hugged him tight and mumbled indecipherable words. Frank only picked up the words 'worried' and 'fucking idiot' and the rest was complete gibberish. Mikey also slept on Gerard's bed, which was getting incredibly cramped, but Frank didn't care. Neither did Gerard; he was just insanely happy that his brother was back home, safe and sound.

After what seemed like hours Frank finally fell asleep after thinking and thinking (and not coming to any logical conclusion about anything), snuggling his head in the crook between Gerard's head and his shoulder. Somehow it was more comfortable than the pillow, even though Gerard was really bony. He was just lovely and warm and Frank was totally glad Gerard let him sleep on him. The awkwardness of sleeping with Gerard had finally worn off after a week and a bit and they'd both sort of forgotten or put the two kisses aside, like it was normal or something. Well, Gerard probably had, Frank thought. He definitely hadn't and he definitely would like to revisit Gerard's mouth. Maybe another time, when he wasn't busy fretting over Mikey's return.

Despite being really comfortable and on the brink of falling into a deep slumber from which only the promise of a beautiful cigarette could wake him, he couldn't take his mind off of Mikey. There was something not quite right about his story, but he couldn't find any loopholes, yet it still felt like he was leaving a crucial part out. He didn't know why he thought this but as Mikey had told it, it seemed all too innocent. It didn't fit.

As it was, Frank _had_ seen Mikey standing near the white van in the school parking lot. Mikey had apparently gotten into the van along with his friends. They'd gone to one of their houses, Mikey said, they had slept over there after playing video games and then he'd come home. That was it. It was all too simple, Frank thought. He didn't know why and he felt as if he couldn't be able to judge, since he wasn't close to Mikey, but why would they have a white van? White vans are the poster car for rapists, drug users and burglars. Not that Frank knew why that was either, since most rapists, drug users and burglars do their business at night so a black van would be less conspicuous. It was one of life's mysteries, he supposed and he stuffed his face into Gerard's shoulder trying to suffocate himself to sleep.

Over the next few days leading up to Frank leaving to live with his uncle, Mikey had made an agreement to call his mother each time he was going to be home at a different time than they'd agreed on. If he wasn't home by four, Donna would go into fits of hysterics and not even Gerard could calm her down so he just sat in the basement with Frank, trying to hide what he thought was his obvious sexual frustration and Frank just sat there all innocent like, as if he felt nothing. How could Frank not do anything? Gerard was almost convinced Frank didn't even want to be there anymore and he was afraid that Frank didn't even care about him. He cared about Frank a lot and he hoped that Frank would reciprocate some form of feelings, especially since he'd seen the portrait he'd drawn of him. It didn't make sense. Why wasn't Frank doing anything? He supposed he could also make a move, but he was too chicken. He was a chicken and he was suffering because of his chicken-ness. He couldn't deny the fact that he really wanted to be with Frank, yet he couldn't shake the feeling that Frank probably didn't feel the same way. True, he was snuggling into his shoulder almost every night now, but what did that mean? Everything was so confusing and Gerard hated everything.

Frank's birthday was celebrated in the kitchen. Donna had bought a birthday cake in the shape of a pumpkin from the supermarket and Frank thought it was absolutely delicious. Gerard knew his mother wasn't a master at any kind of cuisine, which was why she was never promoted from dishwasher to chef in her four years working at the diner, but seeing the pure joy on Frank's face when they uncovered the cake, made Gerard's heart skip a beat. Donna had even suggested Frank stay another week, but when Frank grimaced – Gerard didn't know if that was because he was leaving or because he was offered an extra week and he couldn't accept or even because he didn't want to stay the extra week – they quickly changed the subject to who was allowed to cut the cake.

The day came for Frank to leave and Gerard hugged him for longer than was probably necessary but Frank didn't mind. Mikey was at Andy's and didn't get home until late. Gerard had pictured a lot of sobbing and hugging and dramatic farewells, but Frank's uncle insisted they leave as soon as possible. He was a tall man and prided himself in that by looking down at others, thinking he were better than everyone else. His suit was tailored, but that was probably a few years ago, since there was a button missing and a few stitches had come loose, Gerard noticed. He guessed this man had once been very important and was now trying to regain some of his lost reputation by wearing his old fancy suit and acting as if he needed to impress. Gerard decided he didn't like him, and, by the looks of Frank who was now sat quietly in the BMW, he didn't like him either. As the car drove off, Gerard felt a twinge of bitterness, loneliness. He resigned to the fact that he would be sleeping alone in his basement again, Frankless.

Gerard and Frank still kept contact, even if it wasn't what Gerard had had in mind. He had expected like weekly visits and hour long phone calls, but Frank had limited cell phone credit and his uncle didn't let him use the landline often so it took a huge chunk out of their budgets if they called for longer than five minutes. They promised to meet again at Christmas, but little did they know they'd be seeing each other much sooner.

It all started with a phone call to Donna Way.


	17. Chapter 17

"Are you saying my _son_ has been selling drugs in your school?" Donna gaped at Jenkins, the headmaster, as if he'd sprouted an extra head and started dancing the Macarena butt naked. "On what grounds can you base this accusation? My son has _never_ had anything to do with drugs. He's a good boy, my son is."

"Mrs. Way, if I may, your son has turned up at school under the influence many times and has frequently been seen selling weed and various other soft drugs and you have received many letters about this behaviour, pressuring you to speak to Michael about this and we have seen no signs of improvement." Ignoring Donna's quizzical and horrified looks, he continued, "For these reasons the school board deems it necessary to suspend Michael for three months. Upon his return we expect no more of such behaviour. Do you understand, Mrs. Way?" He paused. "Mrs. Way? Your coming into school to see me was needed since I assumed it was either benign neglect of your son that – " he was cut off by the cries of the woman in front of him.

"_Benign neglect_? What do you _take_ me for? I haven't received any letters and the well being of my two sons is of _utmost_ importance to me! How dare you accuse me of neglecting my children?" Unfolding her arms and looking furious, she stood up out of the the chair opposite the headmaster's before continuing, "if you're willing to show me these letters and show me concrete proof of your allegations, then I will speak to my son about all this, but I refuse to believe he does drugs or does any of those things you've just accused him of. He knows better than that, having gone through what he has. Not that you would know, Mr. Jenkins."

"I would be more than happy to oblige, Mrs. Way, but please understand that the letters your son received from the school board and me personally were meant to be given to you and the fact that they _haven't_ been given to you, is something else your son needs to be punished for. He's been given multiple detentions and has failed to show up for all twenty-eight of them over the past two weeks. I can't help but wonder, how did you not _know_ of his behaviour?" Jenkins leaned forward, leaning on the polished wooden table, which was spotless. All the pencils were laid out arranged to length. Every single piece of paper was stacked neatly upon the next. It all looked extremely tidy and Donna noticed Jenkins constantly readjusting the pencils so they were straight again. No wonder Jenkins never particularly liked Gerard when he was in high school; Gerard wasn't exactly straight. She chuckled.

"What could possibly be funny?" Jenkins inquired, cocking his head slightly and furrowing his brow. "There have been various reports on children under the influence in class from many teachers. After questioning a few, they have all confessed and your son seems to be the main culprit, having sold them marijuana and," he consulted the piece of paper he was holding, "apparently also ecstasy tablets, during break or after school. Do you consider this a laughing matter, Mrs. Way?"

"Mr. Jenkins," she paused, taken aback by all the allegations against her youngest son, who was still in her eyes an innocent fifteen - sixteen, she corrected herself - year old child. "I have no knowledge of any of these things Michael has supposedly done. I'll - I'll talk to him and make sure he'll never do it again, though, my God," she said, shaking her head in disbelief. How could she not have known this? Sure, Mikey was out a lot but she just assumed he was playing video games with his geeky little friends, or something. Isn't that what sixteen year old boys do? Since when did sixteen year old boys get mixed up with drugs? And most importantly, how was Mikey obtaining these drugs in the first place?

"One more thing, Mrs. Way, before you leave: Michael hasn't been in school for the past two days, and in the past four weeks his attendance has been remarkably low. We have received letters from you, obviously, that he was off sick, but the school board is curious as to what is keeping him out of school for extensive periods of time. For future reference, could you perhaps fill out this form for which allergies your son has and also which illnesses tend to reoccur? Are there any hereditary illnesses in your family, Mrs. Way?"

Donna simply stared at him. Mikes wasn't sick at all, what was he talking about. She'd sent no letters. Mikey had been at school, plain as that. What on _earth_ was going on?

Then it dawned on her. Everything made sense, but at the same time none at all. Mikey would never disobey her. He would never skip school, do drugs, sell them and not tell her. He would never forge letters excusing himself from lessons feigning illnesses. He would never do anything outside of Donna's comfort zone and he had always been a good kid. What was happening?

* * *

"Look, man, it's totally cool. You can come over, like, tomorrow if that works out with your uncle. It's almost Christmas, well, you know, if 'almost' is three weeks, but whatever. No, no, no, that's totally fine, but you have to come over. No, man, she won't mind. She loves you, you know that. Hey, gotta hang, she just got home and, yeah, it doesn't look good. I'll speak to you later, bye, love you," and he hung up. That last part somehow managed to sneak in there, but Gerard found himself not caring. He had exchanged quite a few awkward silences and, at the end of each conversation, they realised neither of them really wanted to hang up and they were missing each other like hell. Grinning at the phone like an idiot, Gerard put it back in the holder and turned to face his Mom who had just walked in the door, looking as if she had just found out her youngest son was dealing drugs or something. What a thought! Gerard would have laughed, but his mother looked so distraught, he decided not to.

She sat down at the kitchen table with her head in her hands, and beckoned for Gerard to sit next to her. He obliged and looked at her. Bursting into tears, she explained what Mr. Jenkins has told her and Gerard gawked at her, horrified at the idea of his little brother dealing drugs - what the hell was that psychic moment just then, what the hell? - and slightly in shock. He'd never have thought Mikey was the type, but then again, lately he didn't feel like he knew Mikey at all. Dropping his own head into his hands, just like his mother, he sat there for a few moments not saying anything. Mikey wasn't home and Donna was becoming increasingly worried he might be injecting himself with poisonous chemicals or be lying dead in a Jersey gutter somewhere. After calling his cell phone at least fifty-seven times and receiving no answer, just voicemail, Donna went to bed, even though it was only six o'clock and they'd not had dinner yet. Gerard prepared some noodles in the microwave and dropped himself onto the couch, hoping in vain that Mikey would be home soon.

* * *

He could feel himself slipping away. His senses were numbed yet he was alert but also groggy and it was one of the best feelings in the world. He could feel the hard concrete underneath him, he could hear the siren of a police car a million miles away, he could see every plume of smoke clearly in front of him and he could taste the unique flavour of the amazing weed. He knew what the regular stuff tasted like and this was not the regular stuff, holy shit. There was something new there and something he didn't recognise. He was too stoned to care and casually leaned back on to someone's lap, resting his head and closing his eyes as he inhaled the sweet smoke. It was the best feeling in the world.

He vaguely noticed the larger guy with the scruffy beard thing going on passing round needles. He also vaguely noticed a sharp jab in the crook of his elbow but he was too stoned to pull his arm back. His reflexes were on zero and his eyes wouldn't open. He fell asleep.

* * *

Gerard woke up on the couch finding noodles all over his shirt and on the floor. He was sleepy and it was 4 AM and Mikey wasn't home and he was seriously going to freak the fuck out. He was sick with worry. Wondering how his mother was doing – probably much worse – he started to pick the noodles off the floor and stuff them back in the pot, which he intended to throw in the trash can. God, they were rancid and cold. Why did he even eat noodles? All what happened when he ate noodles was gross, rancid noodle remnants on his shirt, even when he ate carefully. Noodles were just something no one could eat carefully. Noodles must be evil, Gerard concluded. It was a good conclusion, for 4 AM, he thought. Gerard would never eat noodles again.

Tipping the evil noodles into the trash can and taking his shirt off and throwing it onto the pile of dirty clothes, Gerard tried to call Mikey again. It seemed like the thing to do at 4 AM.

This time Mikey actually answered the phone, much to Gerard's surprise, who was expecting voicemail and didn't actually have anything prepared to say.

"Yo," he heard his brother say, totally relaxed, as if 4 AM was a completely decent time to call and as if it was totally cool to not be home at 4 AM, or was it half past 4 now? Gerard didn't know and he picked another noodle out of his hair. How did he manage to get freaking noodles in his hair anyway?

"Uh," Gerard began, "where the fuck _are_ you, man?" He scratched his cheek for some unknown reason.

"Oh, uh, just … chillin', you know?" It wasn't a question and Gerard was furious and he was going to kill Mikey, oh my god.

"Man, just come the fuck home. Mom's had an absolute meltdown and – just fucking come home, okay? I, I don't know what to fucking say to you. It's late. I'm tired. I'm going to break your stupid head into a million pieces if you don't come home – just, please." Gerard was pleading and he hated to think Mikey was sat there injecting himself with poisons and destroying himself and it was late and Gerard needed to lie down. He was going to murder Mikey, oh my god.

Gerard felt he should be angrier and sadder than he was showing, but he blamed lack of sleep. Once Mikey got home, he would never let him go out the house again, he promised himself.

He threw himself onto the couch again and buried his face into a scratchy cushion so he wouldn't fall asleep again. He didn't bother to turn the television on, since the remote control was on the other side of the coffee table and he couldn't reach from where he was laid, sprawled on the couch like a squashed pigeon on the motorway, he thought to himself. He'd actually drawn one of those not long ago. He hated the drawing though, because all the feathers of the bird were ruined because the creature had been squashed by huge ass tires and were covered in blood. Gerard checked his watch. 4.48 AM.

There was nothing more emotionally and mentally draining than worrying about stupid little brothers, Gerard thought and thumped his head against the cushion in desperate attempt to stay awake. He didn't want to be asleep when – _if_, he corrected himself regrettably – Mikey finally came home.

He waited and there was no sign of Mikey. There was no sign of him at half past 5 and there was no sign of him at 7 nor at quarter to 8, Gerard finally decided he needed a bit of sleep and staggered down the stairs and thanked whatever God there may be up there that he didn't break a leg.

His bedroom had been annoyingly empty since Frank had left and Gerard missed him so much it was unreal. Somehow it felt like it had progressed from friends to something a little more that both of them were afraid of admitting to themselves and each other. It confused Gerard to even think about it so he just let himself get carried away talking to Frank whenever they did, and he didn't mind. It was all less awkward and, never running out of stuff to talk about somehow, they could talk for hours and it was the best part of the day for Gerard. It still confused him now so he just dumped his stupid body onto the bed. His limbs were heavy and his eyes were dropping shut and he could already hear the stupid birds outside. He hated mornings, especially when he needed to sleep.

In the past few weeks Gerard had been amazingly productive, having tidied up and categorized all his drawings and oils paintings and pretty much everything he'd ever made and having vacuumed the floor and dusted every visible surface in the room and even washed his window for the first time in about four years. Everything was clean and it was totally not Gerard but it felt somewhat refreshing, like he'd cleansed his soul or some shit and it was symbolized in the state of his bedroom. He'd even hung a few art pieces on the wall above his bed. Incidentally, those were the pieces that Frank had said were his favourites. Now, they hung on the wall over where Frank used to sleep, but the bed was Frankless and Gerard wished he were here again. His best friend was missing. He missed cuddling with Frank, who could one night be extremely fragile and upset which made Gerard want to hug all his problems away, but he could also be strangely cheerful and sometimes even a bit daring, nuzzling Gerard's shoulder or cheek which sent happy messages to Gerard's dick who misinterpreted the situation all the fucking time. He just missed his presence and their stupid conversations about which Spider Man movie was the best. He knew Frank was doing much better now and it made him feel a lot better about being with him and talking with him. He didn't have to be afraid that Frank would all of a sudden start crying.

It hadn't been just a bed of roses either for Frank, because his Uncle barely let him out the house after school and he had to do homework all the time. since at some point Frank's Uncle had answered the phone himself and Gerard got the full Spanish inquisition about why he was calling, what he wanted with his nephew and why his nephew seemed happy and what everything meant? Frank had ended up texting Gerard after a week of no calls, like, _'where r u? did u die?_' and Gerard had replied with _'mom disconnctd phone srry'_ and five minutes after that _'ill_ _call u asap tho xx_' because Donna was having major mental breakdowns over the phone bill and Gerard had still really wanted to be able to call him. Gerard had been on too much of a Frank-is-coming-at-Christmas!-high to care if Frank might interpret the kisses as something more than just a signing off, even if it was only something girls did. Was it more than that? Gerard had hoped Frank might hope so. Not understanding any of his own actions concerning Frank anymore, he had decided to just let it be and not worry. He used to worry so often, but now he did it less and less and everything was great except for his stupid little brother.

Having fallen asleep, Gerard never heard whether Mikey came home or not. When he woke up, it took a moment to assess the fact it was morning because sun was entering his room for the first time in four years. Rubbing sleep out of his eyes, he got out of bed and pulled on his pajama trousers which had magically found themselves off Gerard and onto the floor over the course of the night. Gerard didn't know why. He flailed his arms around for a moment, trying to regain his balance when his vision went all blurry and dark. Holding on to the door handle for a minute as his vision came back, he inhaled sharply. This wasn't anything weird for Gerard or anything. It just happened whenever he sat down or laid down for a bit and his blood pressure went down. Still feeling slightly dizzy, he made his way upstairs towards the cornflakes and, most importantly, caffeine.

Making 'nnggfgggh' noises all the way up the stairs, he wondered what the hell he'd been drinking last night. He'd only had noodles, what the fuck. He was going to check the label to see if there were any alcoholic substances in his noodles. His head hurt thinking about anything so he resigned to his daily automatic state of making coffee with his eyes practically shut.

After downing his fourth cup, Gerard felt a bit more awake and less like he'd been run over consecutively by seventeen lorries. It was only about two in the afternoon and Mikey would have to be up as well now since it was a Saturday, but he wasn't drinking coffee with Gerard in the kitchen as per usual, which indicated he hadn't come home after all.

Slowly it dawned on Gerard the gravity of the situation. Mikey wasn't home. He'd been out all night and none of them knew where or with whom or what he was doing and they lived in _New Jersey_, for fuck's sake. Gerard's relaxed mind instantly did a one-eighty and Gerard started to panic. He needed to contact Mikey _right_ now and there was no way he could. What if Mikey was lying dead in a gutter somewhere, his veins full of heroine or whatever.

"Mom! Mom!" Gerard yelled, running towards his mother's bedroom. To his surprise she was already up, but she was sitting upright in her bed. She hadn't taken her makeup off before she went to bed, Gerard noticed, as her eye makeup was smudged and black streaks of mascara were running down her cheeks. Her lips quivered and her eyes just stared at nothing.

"Mom, oh my God, what is it? What happened?" He rushed over to her and held her close. She put her arms round him as well as she spoke softly and slowly,

"I just received a call from the police station. Mikey is in custody. They have him charged for drug use and distribution. Gerard, what am I going to do? What's happened to him? Where did I go wrong, Gerard?"


	18. Chapter 18

AN: I apologise for the longest wait ever. I know a lot of you were incredibly impatient and I have been equally lazy but here it finally is. It's a short one but it was needed.

* * *

The sky was a the cool clear blue of watered down ink and there was not a cloud in sight. Despite the good weather, Frank and Gerard were sat in the basement debating which picture Gerard should sell to the art shop. It wasn't a matter of which one was the nicest, but which would bring the most money in. The late February sun was beating in through the washed windows down onto both their faces, illuminating all their favourite features. Gerard had actually started washing since December so now he looked less homeless and more cared for. Frank had gotten a haircut and now looked less like an under-age convict and more like an actual teenage boy. The sad look in his eyes had almost completely disappeared, but Gerard did occasionally catch a glimpse of sorrow in his mature eyes. It was completely understandable, though, seeing as he was an orphan and seen his best friend go through what could only be described as traumatic. Gerard's brother's funeral had been the saddest moment of Gerard's life. No matter how much Frank tried to convince Gerard otherwise, Gerard kept insisting it was all his fault, that if he hadn't been so busy drowning in his own pointless sorrow and over-medicating himself to be able to ignore everything, including his brother who had needed him most at that time, that if he hadn't ignored him when he had stopped over-medicating and constantly fussed over Frank, and had fussed more over his little brother. Frank couldn't pretend he wasn't hurt by these words, as much as he felt sorry for Gerard. He didn't believe as Gerard did, that it was a choice between him or his brother. Yet, no matter how much he tried to persuade Gerard into thinking it was out of their hands, if only partially, what Mikey had done and gotten himself mixed up in, Gerard wouldn't listen.

The first month had been the worst: Gerard had shut himself up in his room and had drunk himself nearly comatose until Donna had found him and chucked out all his liquor bottles. She had forced Frank into helping her unearth all the hidden alcohol in Gerard's room. She had pushed Gerard into a hot bath and told him she wouldn't let him out until he smelled purely of soap and soap only. Frank was the one who had to guard the door and he had amused himself with singing Iron Maiden songs to Gerard (who was sulking in the bath) and had progressed to Green Day, then All Time Low and finally Katy Perry until Gerard was finally laughing despite of himself. Regardless of the karaoke day, Gerard's mood had remained foul until Frank snapped at him for being an asshole and if he wanted this relationship to work, _he_ would have to work for it too. They had spent an entire week cleaning up Gerard's basement room, using obscene amounts of detergents to get rid of the pungent odour of liquor. It took three runs of the washing machine to cleanse every piece of clothing Gerard owned of its remarkable scent that was probably a mixture of body odour, alcohol and acrylic paints.

Now the windows were freshly washed, the floorboards scrubbed clean of any paint splashes, the art supplies neatly lined up according to frequency of use and then sorted by size. Even Gerard's bed was made, which it hadn't been for about nine weeks. Everything was clean again and everything was all right again, except the empty bed in his little brother's room. Dust had been collecting on every surface, but once Gerard was dragged out of his stupor he decided Mikey's room should be clean too. He went in every day, either to move a piece of clothing or wipe down the cupboard or remake the bed, as if they were merely waiting for him to come home from school. After a while the room grew cold, unlived in and cold. That was when Gerard stopped pretending and accepted Mikey was gone. It would take years before he'd be able to deal with it, but he now stopped laying the table for an extra person who would never sit down. It was with a sense of finality that they stopped looking out the window a month after the funeral. There was no denying it now, Mikey was gone and he was not coming back.

"I think we should do this one, Gerard," said Frank after carefully looking through all the different paintings and drawings. "Yeah, this one. It reminds me of – well of us. That sounds awful but – just take a look."

Gerard took the drawing from Frank and studied it. He couldn't say he was surprised at Frank's choice: it was the drawing he had made the day before Mikey's funeral. It was the first time he had ever managed to finish every detail of a drawing, in this case all the bird's feathers. It was a dove, not a pigeon like most times. Pigeons were common and therefore easy to draw as you saw them reasonably often. Doves were much more rare around this part of Jersey. It was Frank's favourite drawing Gerard had ever made, he said.

"I know you want it to mean something, but it still does. It does to you, to _us_. It doesn't have to mean the same thing to someone else, right? They might only admire your skill and that's okay. We still need the money."

Frank's words were the truth and Gerard knew it, he just didn't want to admit it. It would mean the end and the start of something new and he was terrified. It had initially been his mother's idea, but now they were actually planning it, it seemed less and less like a good move. What if they ran out of funds? What if they couldn't pay off their mortgage in time? Frank would still have to go to school for one more year, but Gerard was pretty sure he could cope with that now. He had changed so much: he had gone from being a timid, angsty fifteen year-old to confident and strikingly good looking sixteen year-old in all just three months. It was astounding and Gerard couldn't help but feel slightly jealous. After all, he had found Frank good looking before and somehow his insecurity made him more attractive to Gerard. He didn't exactly understand why, since he couldn't even take care of himself, but he had really wanted to look after Frank and take him in and make him better. Now he wasn't needed anymore, he felt … useless, as though the job he was to carry out was done and there was no purpose left for him to fulfil. Frank insisted he loved Gerard and Gerard was positive he could never love anyone else in his lifetime, but still he felt like he needed Frank more than Frank needed him.

"Yeah, we'll just do this one and get it over with. Mr. Appleby said we'll get about $200 for each drawing we send in that gets placed." He leaned back, resting his head against Frank's knees which disappeared after a moment of touching. Frank had gotten to his feet and was now pulling on his raincoat, the same one he wore when he had arrived here the night his mother passed away.

"Where're you going? What's up?" asked Gerard alarmed.

"Bathroom," Frank replied shortly.

Shutting the door behind him quickly, Frank practically sprinted towards the sink. Splashing his face with icy cold water, he regained his balance again. It had all gone so fast these past few months and now they were moving out to live in their own apartment together. It had been Gerard's mum who had suggested it, thinking it would be good for both of them to get out of this neighbourhood, to start again, so to say. Gerard had been hesitant at first but now seemed to warm to the idea, while Frank did all the planning (Gerard was terrible at scheduling his day, let alone sort out mortgage papers and Frank's official adoption papers). Gerard just made sure they gathered enough dosh to be able to sustain themselves for a few months. Obviously, Gerard would have to get a job. Frank already started working in the local _Day 'n' Nite_ mart during night shifts, because that paid better than day shifts. Their life had taken this sudden turn and it was all too fast paced for Gerard, Frank felt. It was understandable, of course, what with his brother's untimely death. Frank also felt that Gerard was acting a bit distant, as though they'd been married for twenty years and they didn't feel any attraction at all anymore. Nothing could be further from the truth, though; they were wrapped in each other's arms almost every evening until Frank went to work. Granted, they didn't see much of each other during daytime, for Frank had to catch up on sleep but he had always flirted with insomnia so night time was always their time.

Tomorrow Donna and Frank would be going to finish the endless stream of legal papers which wanted to prohibit Frank from living with Gerard and having his own mortgage under the age of 21. They would finally be able to be free of Belleville, forever. Though, the prospect of living alone and being independent frightened Frank. He had wanted this for so long and now it was finally happening he was scared shitless.

It'll all be over by the weekend, he promised himself, then _you can relax and it will be like nothing ever happened and your life will be fine (just calm down just calm down calm down frank)._

Except it wouldn't be fine, it would still be awkward. The main problem Frank had at the moment with moving away with only Gerard, was the fact that they hadn't progressed past kissing and snuggling and once they were alone, Gerard would probably want to go all the way because there wouldn't be the grand obstacle of the possibility of his mother bursting in the room. Frank didn't think he was ready, not at all. He loved Gerard, no doubt about it, but the thought of having sex with him made his insides squirm. And curiously enough, it wasn't a happy squirm, it was an awkward squirm, a horrible, sickening squirm. Pushing the thought of the bad squirm to the back of his mind, re-entered Gerard's bedroom again, not mentioning any of his doubts and plastering a huge fake smile on his face to reassure Gerard with the desired effect; Gerard beamed at him and began babbling on about the apartment they were going to rent without sparing Frank's awkward squirming stomach another thought.


End file.
